fiCTOEiA mm] 



OR, 



A TRUE WOMAN. 



A COMEDY IN FOUR ACH S. 



BY 



ANNA LENIHAN-KLEIN. 



NEW YORK 

1882. 



Yl 



J 



\^ i^ \ X 



PR 




r\ 



kJ 



Y: 



OR, 



A. TI^XJE -^J^CDlsKJ^lsT. 



A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS. 



nv 



ANNA LENIHAN-KLEIN. 



.-.V OF ?■"•• 
doPYRh 



""^ n ^A^ §6 1882 






^^orwASHi>>^l ' 



NEW YORK 

1882. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by 

ANNA LENIH AN- KLEIN, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



WILLIAM JONES. 

DAVID, his son. 

BELLA, David's wife. 

DANIEL HERBERT. 

ANNA, his wife. 

VICTORIA PEABODY, a widow, Anna's sister. 

GEORGE WESTERN, a widower. 

VIOLET, his ward. 

ADELINA WEAVER, an old maid 

HARRY CLIFTON. 

LOUIS FRISER, a French hairdresser. 

HANS ERNING, George Western's servant. 

HILDx\, Victoria Peabod\^'s maid. 

MARY STEEN, a nurse at Jones's. 

Time of Action : The Present. 



ACT 1. 

Parlor in DaJiiel He7-berf s House. 

Scene I. HiLDA (arranging flozvers on the table.) 

What lovely flowers ! A love gift of Mrs. Peabody's whim- 
sical swain Upon my life, my madam understands how to 
manage her admirers admirabl)'. I'm not a fool ; but she 
beats me all hollow. 

Enter Hans. ( Walks on tiptoe to Hilda and kisses her?) 

Hilda. Good gracious ! how you startled me! Why, Hans, 
what brings you here so early ? 

Hans. Let me firsht kiss your rosy cheeks and sherry 
lips. 

Hilda. Hans, keep cool, I say. 

Hans. Hilda, you will soon be mine vife. Vat shall I den 
keep cool for } 

Hilda. Wait till I am your wife, and then you may — 

Hans. And you call dat love } 

I^nter LOUIS ; but when he sees Hans withdraws again. 

Hilda, I dink you are false, and you don't love me. 

Hilda. Tut, tut! Now don t fly out again. But what 
has brought you here so early ? 

Hans. Donnerwetter ! Dat reminds me of mine master's 
orders to be in an hurry ? You girls mix us poor fellows all 
up in de mind. Vhere is Mr. Herbert ? 

Hilda. In his study. 

Hans. All right. I've no time to lose. I must go and see 
him. {Exit.) 

filter Louis. 

Louis {puts his arm round Hilda s waist). I stole off to pay 
you court, chere Hilda. 



Hilda. Ah, Mr. Louis ! Have you finished my Madam's 
hairdressing? 

Louts. Not quite ; she will ring ze bell when she vant me 
to put ze finishing touch to her coiffure But now I vant 
you to give ze finishing touch to our affairs. Hilda, vill you 
promise me to send zat clumsy, vulgar German to the right 
about and zen become mine vife } 

Hilda. I assure you that you do me quite an honor, but — 

Louis. Let us have no more buts and no evasions. See 
me here on mine knees. You vill drive me fou, mad, if you 
don't marrv me. Next month I'll go to Paris and I'll take 
you vith me ; I vill buy you beautiful silk trains, and intro- 
duce you to mine family. Vill you not see Paris.'' 

Hilda. Paris ! Oh, Louis, I'm yours. {Aside.) I'm sorr}^ 
for poor Hans ; but silk trains and Paris is too great a 
temptation. 

Louis. And vill you name ze day, cherie ? 

Hilda. {Aside.) But Hans is a rough, outspoken fellow ; 
the consequences may be awful. 

Louis. {Aside.) She still seems to hesitate. {Pulls a little 
package out of Jus pocket.) Chere Hilda, I've here an leetle 
article which may please you. {Gives her a ring ) 

Hilda. Oh. what a beautiful diamond ring ! Oh, Louis, I 
thank you. {Embraces Louis ^ 

Enter Hans {dumbfounded). 

Hans. Shock-shwerenoth ! , Halloa, halloa, vat is all dis ? 

Hilda. Oh, nothing ; only a little joke. 

Hans. Now look here, Hilda, I don't like dese little jokes 
in mine future vife. Mr. Louis, be careful alvays to keep 
your paws off dis girl, because she is mine property ; or you 
may get your bones broken. 

Louis. Vulgar German. Dare you insult me } 

Hans. Mr. Louis, you dink yourself an nice man, don't 
you ? 

Louis. All ze girls zink me a nice man. 

Hans. Now, don't believe these lying girls. You are an 
disgusting chap, and if you vas mine related fader I'd dink 
mineself ashamed of you. for you are as ugly as sin. 

Louis. Don't go on at such a rate or — 

Hms. Veil, I won't dishpute dis point no longer vid you 
old parchment-faced Frenchman. Look in mine eyes, 



Hilda, and answer me. But mind, no trifling girl. Do you 
vant to marr)^ me or dis old, gouty fellow ? 

Hilda. Now, Hans, keep cool and — 

Hans. Stuff and humbug ! Keen cool ! Aha ! \^ou can't 
look in mine face, and your eyes have an queer twist. {He 
takes both her hatids and forces her to look in his face.) Out vid 
it — tell me de trud ! Have you changed your mind and vill 
not marr)^ me, and den open an grocery store from bod our 
savings ? Tell me, Hilda. 

Hilda. What a fuss y m make for such a worthless cause. 

Hans Vordless cause ! Veil, den de matter is settled 
between us, as sure as I m goin' to horsewhip dis drivellin 
old monkey of a Frenchman. 

Hilda. Stop, Hans, or I'll scratch your eyes out ! 

Hans You take de part of dis paltr3^ mean scoundrel ? 

Hilda. Don't be alarmed. I'll not marry in haste ; I like 
to be free. 

Hans. None of your gammon ! It makes my blood 
curdle ! 

Louis. Ah, zis fellow's vulgarity vill spoil mine appetite 
for the whole day. 

Hans. Spoil your appetite ! I'm sure you'll eat like an 
cannibal. If you vaz an trifle younger and not ugly like an 
orang-outang — 

Louis. Morbleu ! Stop insulting me or — 

Hans. Veil, you hideous animal, or — 

Louis. You'll make me sick and I'll leave ze room. 

Hans. To see you comfortable out of dis room dat's jist 
vat I vants I I'll have an mind to bundle you out and den 
talk ter you. 

Louis. Vraiment ! I never met viz such an vulgar mon- 
ster ! 

Hans. You old hedgehog, you'll get enough of dat monster 
vhen it has drashed you to pieces. {Bell rings.) 

Louis. You are too much beneaz me to bandy any more 
Avords wiz you. Dear Hildii, I must go to finish your Madam's 
coiffure. Au revoir ! {Kisses Hilda's hand and Exit) 

Hans. Are you de girl dat vos to be mine vife } 

Hilda. Let us make a bargain, Hans. 

Hans. Girl, no more humbug! I tell you dat you are 
noding but a deceitful, crawling snake I 

Hilda. Your vulgarity would never allow you to become 
a good husband for my superior taste. 



Hans. After I've vorked at your Frenchman, he'll not be 
much to look at. I'll pull his old cork-screw nose. 

Hilda. Don't scoff, vou. {Aside>) Oh, I'll die of his bru- 
tality ! 

Hans. I'll make your hairdresser fly like a kite ! Marry 
him, but vid your eyes shut. You ought to see dat gouty 
fellow vhen his vig comes off in de evening. Veil, hell 
tuck you up. Good luck to de old monkey ! Good luck ! 
{Exit ) 

Hilda. His brutality is so outrageous that he well deserves 
to lose me! Oh, what a bother these men are ! 

Enter LOUIS. 

Louis. Chere Hilda, je suis fache, very sorry zat vulgar 
fellow has outraged your feelings ; but ve vill now be happy, 
my sweet love. {Kisses Hilda.) 

Enter David {just in time to see Louis kiss Hilda.) 

David. Sorry to disturb you, but — 

Louis. Excuse me. Monsieur, I'm off ! My customers are 
vaiting for me. {Exit.) 

David. {Kisses Hilda.) Hilda, 1 didn't think you were such 
a flirt. 

Hilda. Sir. do not always rob me of my kisses. 

David. Exchange is no robbery What on earth is the 
meaning of all this .? Do you know that I'm jealous of this 
Louis Friser ! 

Hilda. If I were you, sir, I wouldn't think of such a 
thing. 

David. Oh, the duplicity of women ! {Kisses Hilda) I hope 
I'm not troublesome to you.'' 

Hilda. Not at all ; take whatever you please. 

David Don't you prefer my company to Monsieur Louis ? 
Or has he cut me out ? 

Hilda. Not exactly that ; but he is going to marry me. 

David. Then I hope you'll soon get tired of him. Life 
would be charming with such a pretty pussy as you for a 
wife. 

Hilda. {Aside) Oh dear, if his wife found him out, he — 

David. Why marry .^ Don't you prefer to make me 
happy } 



Enter Victoria {but remains in the backgroinid). 

Hilda. Monsieur Louis will take me to Paris, and he'll 
buy me plenty of silk trains 

David. I'll buy you plenty of silk trains too, my darling. 

Hilda. Trains ? Oh, yes ; but where is the husband ? 

David. (Kisses Hilda.) My wife may die, we are all mor- 
tal. There's no fear of indiscretion. 

Hilda. Mr. David, one can't help liking you. 

David. Wouldn't j^ou like to go to the theatre to-night, 
darling } 

Hilda. No, I'm afraid — . 

David. Now, Hilda, don't make a little fool of yourself. 
I'm sure you are not going to bill and coo only with your old 
Louis. Hilda, can my entreaties not persuade you.? 

Hilda. Mr. David, j^ou are quite a lady-killer. 

David. Yes, I'm very fond of killing that game. 

Victoria. {Aside.) What a silly rattle. {Coughs.) 

Hilda {runs out of the room the moment she sees Victoria.) 

David. {A little confused, then pulls a paper with lo::enges out 
of his pocket.) You have quite a cough, cousin. May I offer 
you some lozenges 7 

Victoria. {Takes some.) I thank you, my attentive cousin. 

David. Let me kiss this matchless hand. {Kisses Victoria's 
hatid.) 

Victoria. What a clever diplomatist you are. I should 
like your wife to have overheard your conversation with my 
maid. Her gratification would be enormous. 

David. I didnt think you were such a prude, cousin. 
Just a'little chuck under the chin of a pretty girl— what fellow 
can resist that ? 

Victoria. Not you, I'm sure. 

David. Cousin, you look so lovely, so enticing, this morn- 
ing. 

Victoria Hush ! hush ! 

David. Thank you for the hint. 

Victoria. Let me caution you, cousin. Your frequent 
absence from your home may begin to arouse your wife's sus- 
picion. 

David. A poor fellow needs a holiday now and then to 
break the monotony of married life 

Victoria. Especially when this monotony is filled by cer- 



lO 



tain brilliant female friends. Why don't you introduce them 
to your wife ? 

David. {Coughs : Victoria offers him lozenges.) 

Victoria. iVIay 1 offer you some lozenges for your trouble- 
some cough ? 

David. {Takes some.) I thank you, my attentive cousin. 
[Aside.) I must conjure up all my powers of ingenuity to 
lull suspicions which she may possibly create in my wife's 
mind. {Aloud?) What do your allusions mean, Victoria.? 

Victoria. {Has seated herself at the table and looks at some 
photographs) Mr. Western's country seat must offer spe- 
cially attractive views. This view looks really charming. 
See. cousin. 

David I know of no more attractive views, save the one 
now before me. {Bows deeply before Victoria). 

Victoria. Are these the elegant, dashing manners which 
give you such an influence over my sex } But they really 
do not affect me. 

David. Thank you for the hint. But confess, cousin, my 
wife seems to be particularly endowed by nature to bore her 
husband. A clever, gifted woman like you would produce a 
paragon of a husband. 

Victoria Your silly talk makes my veins tingle. You 
only want to throw me off my guard. Listen to me, cousin. 
You amuse yourself everywhere whilst your wife is moping 
at home. Your last vagaries T heard of have — 

David. Are you going to betray me .? 

Victoria. 1 ought to, and likewise no longer permit you 
to outrage my feelings of justice. But under the present 
circumstances 5''our wife's confidence in her rakish husband 
is the luckiest thing in the world. But such affairs cannot 
be "kept dark forever. The last story you were the hero of 
may get noised about and — 

David. Do your allusions refer to — 

Victoria, The very person you have now in mind. Cousin. 
I have given you warning. 

Enter Hilda. 

Hilda. Mam; Mr. Western asks permission to see you. 
David. I'm off. Dear Victoria, may I count on your gene- 
rosity .'' 

Victoria. Yes ; but it is more than you deserve. 



II 

David. T promise to give up all these little follies, and I'll 
try to make myself worthy of your kindness. {Kisses Vic- 
toria's hand ; and in passing Hilda he chucks her tinder the 
chin and kisses her.) 

Hilda [Aside.) What elegance, what cleverness that man 
possesses. 

Victoria. Hilda, if you value your place, let us have no 
more scenes like the one I witnessed a little while ago. 

Hilda. Madam, I — 

Victoria. Hush ! Go and tell Mr. Western I'll be pleased 
to see him. [Hilda exit.) 

Enter George. 

Madam, I wish you good morning. I hope you will not 
think me an intruder that I have taken the liberty of calling 
on you so early. 

Victoria. I am always pleased to see my kind neighbor at 
any time of the day. 

George. I couldn't leave town, though ev^en for a few days, 
without having seen you once more. 

Victoria. My sister and I will regret the loss of a pleasant 
neighbor. 

George. Mere!}'- as a neighbor you would regret me } 

Victoria. And a friend. 

George. And nothing more } 

Victoria. That ought to satisfy your ambition, 

George. 1 have only one ambition. 

Victoria. And am 1 permitted to know the nature of it ? 

George. To be beloved by you is the chief ambition of my 
life. Victoria, what is the cause of your coolness? You 
made me believe that you requited my love. 

Victoria. We ma}^ change our minds. 

George. What one promises one must abide by. 

Victoria. To the husband, yes, most certainly ; but we 
must not permit these ideas to rule us when it is still time to 
dissolve a tie which has not yet become sacred. 

George. Is our word not sacred } 

Victoria. In all other affairs, save this, yes. Events, cir- 
cumstances, may possibly effect a change in the minds of the 
lovers, and I would consider it against my conscience to put 
myself in a position which would be certain misery for both 
of us. 



12 



George. Victoria, this is a hazardous game we are playing. 
We must not allow our lover's quarrels to part us. Dearest, 
we are made for each other. 

Vict. That is still a problem that the future must solve. 

George. The problem is rather how can I convince you to 
trust and love me } 

Vict. Trust ! You did not even deign last night to 
tell me the pretty girl's name whose picture you treasure 
near your heart. Perhaps it is a talisman ? 

George. It is the likeness of my ward, Violet. Surely, you 
have no cause to be jealous of her. 

Vict. You are right ; how can there be jealousy where 
there is no love ? 

George. Dearest, you do not believe what you say, and — 

Vict. Go, and forget me as if we had never met. 

George. Obey you, I will not. Forget you, I could not. 
You are unable to resist a smile, in spite of your severity. 
Do you think I could hold aloof from the fascination with 
which you inspire me, could reason myself out of my admi- 
ration and love for you } 

Vict. I can't tell, and I prefer not to guess. 

George. Dearest, can nothing reconcile you ? 

Vici. Reconciliation presupposes still love and ten- 
derness — 

George. In our case these requisites surely exist. Par- 
don me, my life was tortured by my wife's jealous vagaries, 
and therefore I detest suspicion and jealousy to such a degree 
that — 

Vict Your wife's jealousy was quite a compliment to 
your attractions. And had she no cause for jealousy ? 

George. Surely not. 

Victoria. Why did she then suspect you ? It seems quite 
incredible. 

George. So it seems, indeed. 

Victoria. And is this the only cause of your aversion to 
jealousy? 

George. It is. I think jealousy degrades us from our dig- 
nity and lowers us in the eyes of the world, 

Victoria. There is a natural and noble jealousy which is 
born of sincere love and of which I approve ; but love born 
of jealousy I despise ; it is only wounded pride and a passing 
fancy. I'm not quite sure whether your love be but a 
caprice, which may last only a short time, and that the 



13 

slightest betra3'al of jealous}^ on 1113^ side may rouse 5^our 
contempt and — 

George. You are well known by your friends as the wisest 
and gentlest of women, and I do not think that you could be 
suspicious like the rest of 3'our sex. 

Vzct. Do not exalt my character too high]3r ; I may 
prove unwoith3' of your good opinion. 

George. Be assured my ineffable faith in 3'ou can never 
shake. 1 know now that you have taught me the true 
meaning oi love. 1 have insisted on penetrating into your 
privacy to ask \'Our pardon lor my last night's unaccount- 
able behavior. 

Vict. [As/de.) There is sincerity in his t"ne that thrills 
through my heart. 

Enter Hilda. 

Hilda. Mam, here is a letter for 3^ou. {Exit.) 

Vict. Sir, will 3'ou be kind enough to permit me to 
peruse this letter.^ 

George. You would oblige me b3" it. 

Vict. {Opens the letter, and a photograph drops out of it to 
the floor ^ 

George. {Picks it tip and looks at it). You made some fresh 
artistic acquisition. Quite a fine looking young fellow, 
Who is he ? 

Vict. A dear and devoted fiiend of mine. 

George And 3'our admirer too ? 

Vict. He is too young to be the admirer of a sedate 
widow. 

Geo7ge. You are still very lovely and may rouse admira- 
tion in any man's heart. 

Vict. There are plent3" of young girls who covet this 
young friend of mine for a husband. And they are right ; he 
is an admirable 3''Oung man. 

George. This admirable young fellow ma3'' not care for 
buds — prefer a full blown rose. 

Vict. {Hands to George the photograph.) Look at him. 
Does not a gentle heart, frankness, and truth speak out of 
his eyes } 

George. Don't be guided in your judgment of characters 
by the expression of peoples' eyes. 

Vict. I cannot avail myself of your advice. My judg. 



14 

ment in regard to expression of eyes has never as yet 
deceived me. 

George. Quite a pathetic inscription : "To the guardian 
angel of my life. With my love and devotion." He seems 
to be an admirer or lover of yours after all. 

Vict. Mr. Western, our acquaintance is of too short 
a standing to make you a confident of m)" private affairs. 

Geo7ge. Ah, you trifle with me and have deceived me. 

Vict. You wrong 7ne now by your suspicion. 

George. I do not suspect you ; but 1 begin to have my 
scruples. 

Vict. Try to reason yourself out of these scruples. We 
are both sedate and quiet people and — 

George. And you accept this picture and approve of its 
inscription 7 

Vict. I accept it and fully approve of its inscription, 
and will place it near my heart, as you did the likeness of 
your ward. 

George. I confess that exceeds my expectations. I can 
now fully understand your motive to dissolve the tie 
between us. 

Vict. Really, one should judge by your conduct that you 
were jealous. 

George. Oh, woman, woman ! What shall I say ? 

Vict. The less you say the better. 

Geojge. And is this the result of our happy dream of the 
future } Oh, I'll die of this unexpected blow [ 

Vict. That would be too great a loss for the world, and 
therefore I'll rid you of my presence. 

George. Then you are determined to give me no explana- 
tion ? 

Vict. I regret that I cannot alter my determination. 

George. Stay one moment, Madam. What is this man to 
you ? 

Vict. My dearest and most devoted friend. Your ques- 
tions are very strange, and your manner is still stranger. 
You look at me with an air of doubt and suspicion, and on 
serious reflection I begin to understand that you doubt my 
word. 

George. Your remarks are most original, considering the 
predicament I'm in. Pray, proceed. 

Vict. T do not choose to divulge my position toward 
this young friend of mine to your suspicious mind. 



15 

George. Further concealment would be out of place. 

V/ct. A few minutes ago you assured me of your ineffable 
faith in me ; but it appears that your suspicion has already 
considerably shaken this ineffable faith. 

Geoi'ge. But permit me to explain — 

Vict. You doubt my word, and therefore I don't desire 
any further explanation, [h.xit.) 

George. I looked at her with close scrutiny ; but she met 
my gaze unmoved. Ah, woman is forever a problem that 
men cannot solve ! ( Throivs himself iji a big ar>n-chair in the 
background.) 

Ejiter David and Daniel. 

Dan. I tell you, David, this will never do. For your 
wife's sake I helped you out of this scrape ; but I'll never 
do so again. 

David. Where did you hide the overcoat ? 

Dan. I threw it into the closet where I keep my papers. 

David. And where is the letter you took from my coat 
pocket ? 

Da7i. I placed it where I found it. 

David. Why that is a piece of confounded stupidity. 

Dan. My wife was just entering my study and therefore— 

David. Well, let's have no more fuss about it. 

Dan. David, you must give up your vagaries. Like 
most worldly pleasures an unwise indulgence in them may 
bring its penalty for you. 

David. It's heart-'^rending ! Your preaching brings tears 
to my eyes ! Oh, Dan, what a sly hypocrite you are ! 

Dan. ' I think it an unpardonable guilt to dupe a wife so 
true and confiding as Bella. 

David. Well, 3^es, she is a dear little woman ; but these 
constant matrimonial affections begin to pall on a poor fel- 
low. Too much sweets spoil the taste. Home is only an 
asylum fit for the old and sick ; now it fills me with ennui 
and satiety. Can 1 help it that T am not made of marble.^ 
I'm pretty sure that you were an old sinner yourself and have 
plenty of old flames in this city. 

Dan. The justice of your allusion to old flames 1 can't 
dispute. Before I was married 1 confess myself guilty of 
little follies and flirtations, like the rest of the fellows, and I 
know how svveet it is to snatch a kiss from a girl's rosy lips. 



15 

I make excuse for the hot blood and unthinking errors of 
young years — they are no crimes. But when a man is mar- 
ried, aiid has a young wife of his own choice, whose heart 
bsats for him in true love, and this man still continues to 
seek new prey for his passions and goes on weaving^ lies 
on lies to deceive his wife, then I'm inclined to call him a 
prerobate. 

David. You view these little indiscretions pretty queer 
in this enlightened and frivolous age. ( Weste^^n comes for- 
ward.) 

Da7t. Ah, good morning, Mr. Western. We were not 
aware of — 

George. Mr. Herbert can we not persuade you to join our 
hunting party } 

Dan. You do me too much honor ; but I'm forced to 
refuse your kind invitation. I have promised to escort my 
wife and Mrs Peabody to the theatre to-night 

David. I'll be ready in half an hour, and I'm anticipating 
a very pleasant time. You know I'm an inveterate sports- 
man. 

Geo7'ge. I'm indebted to my good fortune in having secured 
such a charming companion as Mr. Jones. Gentlemen, 1 bid 
5^ou a good morning. {Exit ) 

Enter Bella. 

Bella. Good morning, Mr. Herbert. I slipped out of doors 
in my morning gown to see whether I have guessed right to 
find my dear Davy here. It is so convenient to live next 
door to our best friends. 

David. {Aside ) I'm just making up my mind to move 
out 

Herbert Excuse me, I'll inform my wife of your presence. 
(Exit?) 

Bella. My own Davy, you have not yet given me one kiss 
this morning. 

David Pray, Bella, don't play the little fool You know 
i don't like these demonstrations of love in a strange house. 

Bella. My darling, let me put these flowers in your button- 
hole. {Puts them /«.) 

David Be as affectionate as you like at the proper time, 
but. not always 

Bella. David, you don't love me any more. 



17 

Diu'id. 'Gad. I do love you dearly ; but this constant billing 
and cooing of married people is ridiculous ; it belongs (^nly 
to the period of courtship. 

Bii/la. Before we were married all your attentions were 
given to me. 

David. Bella, you know that a scene annoys me exces- 
sively. 

Bella. But now you are quite changed ; though my atten- 
tions are still ^iven to you. 

David. A wife's attentions belong to her husband. 

Bella. Your clubs, your hunting parties engross you too 
much 

Da7'id. Foolish little pussy ! Do you think I value any 
pleasure without you by my side .'' But I've duties to fulfil to 
my station and my numerous friends 

Bella. You were in the habit of never going out or com- 
ing in without giving me a kiss ; but of late you never — 

David. Let's take matters easy ! Dear Bella, I'll give you 
all the kisses you want as soon as I'll return from my hunt- 
ing party. 

Enter Victoria. 

Bella. How cruel to leave me all alone for at least a 
week. 

David. Bella, don't cry like a baby. {Aside.) Confound 
it ! 

Vict. I don't believe that marriages are made in heaven. 

David. Why do you object to that old adage, cousin } 

Vict. Because it is utterly devoid of sense. 

David. Im sorry that for the present I have to deny 
myself the pleasure of profiting by the opportunity to admire 
your wit and sparkling repartee. I have to leave in half an 
hour for Mr. Western's country seat, and so I hope you will 
kindly excuse me. Ladies, I bid you a good morning. {Exit.) 

Bella. Pardon my hurry, Victoria; but I must go and see 
my Davy off. {Exit.) 

Enter Anna and Daniel. 

Anna. ( Weeping.) Let me know everything. Give me 
the name of the woman who robbed me of my husband's 
love, and I'll pardon you. 

Dan. Seriously, I wish I could give you the name of thj 



i8 

woman who wrote that letter you found in my coat pocket, 
but it isn't in my power. As to my love, you may rest assured, 
dear wife, no woman has robbed you of it. 

Anna. Ob, what a web of lies ! One must be blind not to 
see something behind all that. 

Dan. Anna, come here and look in your old husband's 
face ; do you think he could tell you anything but the truth ? 

Anna. Dan, have you no confession to make ? Do tell 
me and — 

Dan. I'll tell you nothing. I'm inflexible. Anna, I 
thought you so confiding, so good. 

A?ina. Do you imagine a wife can receive a blow like this 
and not get roused to passion and indignation ? 

Dafi. It would be more becoming in 5'^ou to receive the 
protestations of my innocence more calml)^ and trustingly. 

Anna. Oh, sister, what shall I believe? 
Vict. Candidly, this does not sound like guilt. Well, 
really, I believe him. But you would be no woman had you 
not conceived a pang of jealousy. 

Dan. She might have doubted appearances, but she 
should no longer doubt the word of her husband who has 
proved to her his loyalty for twenty years. {Exit.) 

Anna. Ah, that jealousy and suspicion must come to tor- 
ture me after twenty years of happiness and trust! 

Vict. Twenty years ought to have given you evidence of 
your husband's loyalty, according to his own saying. 

Anna. Is this letter I found in his coat pocket no evidence 
to the contrary ? Listen to me. {Reads the letter.) To my 
dear Deechy Datchy. What a preposterous name ! But 
there can be no doubt that this silly address is meant to be 
a pet name for Daniel. Deechy Datchy, it is too foolish! 
{Continues to read) Many thanks for the beautiful bracelet. 
I shall wear it to-night in honor of our little supper. Be 
careful of the spying c it, or she may catch your 

Loving Little White Mouse. 

What a silly and treacherous woman the writer of thesB 
lines must be ! I wish I were a cat and could bite this little 
white mouse's head off ! 

Vict. Give your husband time and he 11 soon explain the 
real meaniuii- of that silly letter to your full satisfaction. 

Anna You never missed an opportunity of expressing your 
merriment on account of my firm br'ijf in my husband's 
virtue, and now you take his part. 



19 

Vict. I have always admired you for the imphcit faith you 
had in your worthy husband. But now you confirm me in 
my behef that women are but weak creatures after all. 

Enter Bella. 

Bella, Oh, I'm all prostrate with grief ! 

Vict, What is the cause of that grief, little woman ! 

Bella. David wouldn't even permit me to accompan)^ him 
to the railway depot. He said I would onl)^ make a little fool 
of myself by crying like a child. 

Vict. No reasonable woman should grieve for such a trifle. 
Pray, be seated child. {Aside.) Poor victim ! 

Enter Daniel {With a satchel in his hand ; he walks quickly 
across the stage and exit?) 

Anna. He went off with his satchel in his hand. Oh, 
sister, what do you think he is going to do ? 

Bella. He sent word to my husband that he had change 
his mind, and would join Mr. Western's hunting party. 

Anna. His conduct grows worse and worse. 

Bella. Mrs. Herbert, I'm missing my husband's dark sum- 
mer overcoat. He must have left it in your husbands study 
last night. 

Anfia. Heaven have mercy on me ! Your husband's over- 
coat ! Oh, my poor, injured, darling husband I 

Bella. How am 1 to understand your emotion, Mrs. Her- 
bert ? 

Vict. My sister is a little out of humor this morning. 
Don't mind her. {To Atifia.) Have pity on the poor child ! 
Compose yourself. 

Enter Hilda. 

Hilda. Madam, there are the carriages. The gentlemen 
will be off in a minute. ( TJiey all rush to the window^ 

Vict. Be careful ! Don't let them see you. 

Bella. Look, Victoria ! Mr, Western seats himself with a 
nice young girl all alone in one carriage. 

Vict. {Aside.) That girl is the original of the likeness 
which he keeps like a talisman near his heart. 

Bella. Mr. Herbert seats himself with a lady, too, in a 
carriage. 



20 

Anna. He does that only to punish me for my base jeal- 
ousy. 

Bella. My good Davy behaves like a real good boy ; he 
seats himself with a gentleman. He don't care for ladies. 

Vzct. {Aszde.) Ignorance is bliss ! (Aloud.) You are 
right ; he onl)'- cares for his dear little wife. {Aside.) I hope 
she'll never see him in his true light. 

Bella. I wonder who these ladies may be ? The younger 
lady's face appeared to me quite a familiar one. 

Hilda. They arrived this morning by the express train. 
The old lady is a cousin, and the young one the ward of Mr. 
Western. 

Vict. An idea strikes me ! Let's resort to something 
extraordinary We'll go to Mr. Western's country seat, too, 
and surprise them. 

Bella. That would be glorious fun ! 

Anna. But under what pretext shall we approach them ? 

Vict. Under the pretext of a joke. 

A?tna. But they may think it odd and singular that — 

Vict. The singularity of this surprise can only be most 
flattering to them. 

Bella. Oh, dear Mrs Herbert, let's go Our husbands 
would be delighted to see us, and we may anticipate a 
delighful afternoon. 

Vict. Hilda, you told me once that you knew the way to 
Mr. Western's country seat ? 

Hilda. In fact. Ma'm, I do. The steamer that leaves here 
in forty-five minutes will take you there in three hours ; 
and when it lands you follow the path till — 

Vict. I want you to accompany us. Let's get ready as 
soon as we possibly can. 

Entei' Harry (with a satchel in his hand?) 

Hilda. Oh, Ma'm, there is Mr. Clifton ! (They all welcome 
him and shake hands.) 

Vict. My dearest Harry, be welcome ! Your two years' 
absence has made quite a fine man of you. 

Ha?^ry. My dearest friend, you too look lovelier than ever. 
Did you receive my letter and the photograph I enclosed 
in it ? 

Vict. Yes, I did. Your photograph is a good one ; but 



21 

you look twice as nice. But time presses Harry, are you 
too tired to escort us on a little steamboat trip ? 

Harry. Not in the least ; I feel as fresh as a lark. 

Vict. Well, then, go to your room and make yourself as 
comfortable as possible till our departure. We must make 
our toilets, and so you must excuse us. {All exunt except 
Hilda?) 

Enter Hans. 

Hilda. {Aside?) My gracious, it is Hans ! I wonder what 
brings him here. 

Hans. Can I see Mrs. Herbert ? 

Hilda. Not now ; she is making her toilet. 

Hans. Veil, den go and tell her dat her husband vill not 
come home to-night, and dat he vent for an hunting on my 
master's grounds. 

Hilda. She knows it already. 

Hans. Veil, den, all right. ( Wants to walk off.) 

Hilda. Hans, you needn't walk off like a bear. We may 
remain friends after all. 

Hans. After you vas so bl-azing cold to me, poor fellow, 
you vants to get sweet again, eh ? Has dat old Frenchman 
jilted you, perhaps, and yo v^ants to slide over to me again ? 

Hilda. Hans, try to be a little more civilized. Mr. Louis 
will take me to Paris, and introduce me to his family. To 
see that lovely Paris has always been the craze of my life. 

Hans. I knows dere vas a craze of someding in your fool- 
ish head. Veil, I must go, or I'll miss de steamer. 

Hilda. Are you going to Mr. Western's country seat, too? 

Hans. Veil, of course, how could mine master pull 
along widout me } 

Hilda. Hans, can you keep a secret ? 

Hans. Veil, I dinks so. 

Hilda. My Madam, and Mrs. Herbert, and Mrs. Jones, 
and I, will leave here with the steamer, too, in order to sur- 
prise the gentlemen in the midsi of their fun. 

Hans. Veil, veil, veil, veil ! 

Hilda. You don't seem to be very much taken by that 
idea. Hans, say something — don't look like a sheep ! 

Hans. Veil, vhen I looks like an sheep, you looks like an 
goose. Vhat are you womens comin to surprise de men 
folks for } Can't you never keep at home like decent peo- 
ple .? 



22 

Hilda. We are free born American women, and — 

Hans. Now, shtop. Vas you born in America as a free born 
woman too ? 

Hilda. Certainly, I was. 

Hans. Dat's an damn lie I 

Hilda. Vulgar fellow, don't swear ; it makes my flesh 
creep. 

Hans. Now, look you here, girl, I shvear as much as I 
vants ; and for making your flesh creep, I don't care. You 
vas born in an little village in Shermany, and you vas tending 
de geese in de fields. You vas already twelve years vhen you 
comes to dis countr3^ 

Hilda. You tell nothing but lies. I'm a free born Amer- 
ican, and pride myself of its great nation, 

Hans. Veil, veil, dat great nation has no cause to pride 
itself of you cranky girl. I finds dat all de good-for-noding 
people pride demselves of deir nations. Donnerwetter 
Shockshwerenoth ! vhy don't dey be good and brave and 
give the nations a chance to pride demselves of dem ? Vhen 
you go to Paris you will soon pride 3^ourse]f to be a French- 
woman — eh, won't yer.^ 

Hilda. No such thing will come to me. The Americans 
are now the rage in Europe, and — 

Hans. Veil, boder your trash ; I must go or I'll — 
{Bell rings ^ 

Hilda. That's my madam's bell. Good bye Hans, I hope 
we'll soon meet again on the steamer. {Exit.) 

Ha?is. Dat I knows for certain dat no good vind vill blow 
all dese vomen folks to mine master's place. To a dead cer- 
tainty dey'll spoil all the men's sport and fun. Dat is true, 
dat Hilda is an shmart girl ; but I'm glad dat old Frenchman 
tooks her oft" mine hands. She is too shmart forme, quiet 
fellow. She'd make me feel as ven 1 vas a sittin all de time on 
a barrel of gunpowder ; and I likes to drink mine glass of 
beer and shmokes mine pipe in peace. 

End of Act I. 



23 



ACT II. 

Garden of George Western s country seat. 
Scene I. Bella. Violet. 

Violet. My dear Bella, this is indeed a happy surprise. 

Bella. To find you here, m)'- dear Violet, after a separation 
of four years, has given me too unexpected joy. 

Violet. They used to call us the inseparables at school. 

Bella. When I saw you enter the carriage this morning 1 
was struck by your face ; but I did not recognize you. 

Violet. We have both changed since we parted. 

Bella. The gentlemen are not yet aware of our presence 
here ; they are out for a ride. How are you enjoying your- 
self in their company. 

Violet. Not the least bit. Among my guardian's guests 
there is an impudent fellow who annoyed me very much by 
his attentions in Canada last year. And now he begins to 
importune me again. Look, there he is. {Points to the 
wing.) 

Bella. That man who is just now conversing with Mr. 
Western.'^ [Seizing Violet's arm.) 

Violet. He is the very man. Don't you dislike him at 
first sight .^ What's the matter? You look like a statue! 
Oh, you press my arm like in a vise ! What is it, Bella ? 

Bella. That man is my sister's husband. Will you oblige 
me by letting him once more address you whilst I listen to 
his perfidy } 

Violet. Though I loathe this impudent man, I'll neverthe- 
less comply with your request. 

Bella. Thanks, dear Violet. He wends his steps in this 
direction. I must hide myself. {Exit.) 

Enter David. 

Da7)id. {Asid^.) Now for a tete-a-tete with my lovely 
enchanter. {Aloud.) May I propose a little ramble in these 
nice grounds. 

Violet. I thank you, sir, but I must decline your off"er. I 
am fatigued and prefer to rest myself. 



24 

David. Little fairy, for the second time fate has thrown 
us together. You are Hke a wind-tossed rose in my path 

Violet. Take care, sir ! A rose has thorns and they might 
wound you. 

David. The attraction is too irresistible to consider such 
a danger. As the magnet attracts iron, likewise — 

Violet. What lovely views this country-seat of my guardian 
possesses. Do they not charm you too } 

David They cannot be compared to the exquisite view 
now before me^ Such a marvel of nature and beauty. 

Violet. Sir, do you not feel remorse for your duplicity ? 

David. What am I to understand by your insinuation ? 

Violet. Did you not propose to me under something like 
false pretences } 

David. (Aside.) Propose ? Does the little fool think I 
made her an offer of marriage? (Alotid.) How can you be 
so cruel to suspect me? 

Violet. Were your intentions then reall)'' of a pure nature 
when you told me — 

David. That 1 adore and love you ? Most certainly. See 
me here on my knees and let me repeat my protestations of 
my passion and love for you. 

Violet. And would you consent to a separation from your 
wife, if I requite your feelings ? 

David. {Aside.) Confound it ! What does she know about 
my wife. 

Violet. You hesitate — 

David. If you command a separation —yes ! 

Violet. Rise, sir ! I can only reject your vile offer with the 
scorn and contempt it merits. (Exit.) 

Enter Bella, and Victoria appears in the background listening. 

Bella. So you desire a separation, sir? 

David. (Aside) Earth swallow me ! What shall I say to 
her ? ! (Aloud.) Dear Bella, the whole affair was nothing 
but a joke. 

Bella. Sir, do not aggravate your baseness by further 
deception. 

David. Dearest little pussy, men talk a good deal to g Is 
without meaning anything. 

Bella. Sir, your conduct has filled me with immeasurable 
contempt. 



25 

David. Did I ever see a woman like you ! Now, if I 
allow myself to get angry — 

Bella. You have from this moment forfeited all your rights 
over me. For our child's sake let the world remain uncon- 
scious of our relations to each other in the future ; but let 
me assure you that you have lost forever my trust, my love, 
and my esteem. {Exit.) 

David. Did I ever imagine that she could talk to me like 
that ! She, who seemed to be the personification of gentle- 
ness and affection. 

Vict. The very worm will turn if you tread on it. 

David. You here, too. I had a suspicion that you were at 
the bottom of this mischief. 

Vict. You are caught at last. What do you propose to do 
now } 

David. I must give her time to cool down. Time has a 
wonderfulh'^ soothing effect in these cases. 
Vict. And do you not feel humiliated? 

David. I can't say that I experience any such emotion. 
\''ict. Then let me at least hope that it does not amuse 
you. 

David. No, on the contrary. Oh, what we poor married 
men have to suffer in this world ! If there were not the 
promise of a second life, we should be driven to suicide. 

Vict. The father of lies would be charmed lo receive his 
worthy son. And I advise you to commit suicide as soon as 
possible. 

David. Pray, don't make me an object of your censure 
and sarcasm. 

Vict. You have such a young and excellent wife, why don't 
you love her } 

David. I do love her dearly. 

Vict. Why do you then deceive her.^ 

David. Why, why ! Can it be expressed why ? That 
seems to be the very mystery of a married man's nature. 

Vict. Let us hope not of all married men, and that flirtings 
is a particular shortcoming of my dear cousin David. 

David. Your sex has irresistible attractions for us poor 
fellows. Dear cousin, ^'^ou look really lovely to-day. 1 won- 
der where 1 had my eyes not to ask you to become my wife 
when — 

Vict, You are incorrigible, and I'm sorry that you are not 



26 

only a rake but deficient of heart. The scene I witnessed 
ought to have put you in a more serious mood. 

David. What shall 1 do ? Run after her like a madman, 
au'i throw myself on her mercy .^ 

Vict. That would be a very kind and just proceeding. 

David. On the contrary — it would be the most tremen- 
dous blunder a man could make under the matrimonial 
yoke. A pretty mess she would make of it ! Torture me to 
death ! I would never hear the end of it ! 

Vict. It seems you have no notion that you do not act 
and talk foolishly but basely. 

David. For heaven's sake don't preach ! Spare me ! As 
if men were not all alike.^ 

Vict. No. my dear Deechy Datchy, they are not all alike. 

David. [Aside.) Thunder! Now I am in for it ! (Aloud.) 
Madam, it seems you don't know me well enough to — 

Vict. I know you but too well, and can't judge you as 
flatteringly as your "loving little white mouse." Pardon 
this absurd quotation for the sake of truth. {Bows mockingly 
and then exit.) 

David How shall I ever get out of this scrape ! That 
wretched Dan has broken his promise and has betrayed me. 
Oh, if I only knew where to find him I For an hour we have 
been trying to hunt him up, but our efforts have been all in 
vain. If that confounded story about that Deechy Datchy 
and that white little mouse gets once noised about among 
my friends and these tattling women there will be no end of 
teasing and tittering. But I must renew my search for that 
vile Dan and give him a good blowing up. [Exit ) 

Enter Victoria and Bella. 

Vict. Your face burns and you shrink from 5'our husband, 
little one. You must forgive him. 

Bella. Oh, never, never ! I loved him and esteemed him, 
but now — 

Vict. All men will commit little indiscretions. Sorely as 
your husband has wounded your feelings, I hope that you, 
nevertheless, still love him. 

Bella. Wretched woman as I may appear to you, I do love 
him still ! But I feel so weary and unhappy I \ wish I were 
dead ! 

Vict. And your child, cruel mother } 



27 

Bella. Ah, my child ! Heaven forgive me ! 

Vict. Can your husband's guilt annul the tie between the 
mother of his child ? He has a good and generous heart 
after all, and you must f )rgive him ; but, nevertheless, 
punish him. 

Bella. I am so unhappy. Dearest Victoria, I have no one 
but \'Ou. 

Vict. Hush, darling ! You have not only me, but many 
friends, and before all, your child ; and if you be willing 
to avail yourself of my advice, in a little while a loving and 
devoted husband too. 

Bella. Dear friend, you shall teach me to resemble you, 
and — 

Vict. There is no necessity to resemble me ; but I love 
you, and will therefore teach you to spoil your husband's 
taste for forbidden fruit. An innocent stratagem is allowed 
in love and war. [Exeunt.) 

Enter David and Anna. 

David. Pray try to be a little reasonable, cousin Anna. 
How should I know where your foolish husband has poked 
himself away .'^ I shouldn t be at all surprised if he has run 
away with that old Miss Weav^er, on whom he was uncom- 
monly sweet at the dinner table 

Anna. Like all profligates, you suspect every one For all 
this misery I'm indebted to you. 

David. To me ? What an unjust idea! 

Anna Not in the least unjust I'll have it out with you 
by and by. "Mr Deechy Datchy;" and the cat will surely bite 
your " loving little white mouse's" head off 

David. {Aside ) She knows all about that confounded 
letter, too. Oh, just let me find that faithless Dan 

Anna. But Fll not waste my time any longer in talking to 
a reckless fellow like you I'll go and rouse all the people 
of the nearest village to search for my poor husband. Oh, 
I'm afraid I shall go crazy I (Exit.) 

David. Crazy ! Well. I think she is already as crazy as a 
March hare, to make such a fuss about that stupid, faithless 
fellow. I shouldn't wonder if that rogue got conscience 
stricken and drowned himself; but if he be vile enough to 
be still among the living, just let me catch him. {Exit.) 

Ente7- Victoria and George. 



28 

George, Some good genius must have worked in my behalf 
to send you here. 

Vict. On the contrary, some evil genius, who has sown 
discord between two loving hearts, was the cause of it. My 
sister had given way to a little weakness of her sex, and her 
husband, taking offence at it, has left her in a huff. 

George. I must confess Mr. Herbert's sudden change of 
mind quite surprised me. 

Vict. His wife begins to conjure up the most dreadful 
things on account of his disappearance. Can you account 
for it, Mr Western } 

George. Indeed 1 can not. 

Vict. My poor sister being now well aware of her error, is 
very eager to ask her husband's pardon, 

George. And if some one else were aware of his crime, to 
have doubted the most excellent of women, could you par- 
don the poor wretch, too, if he were to throw himself at your 
mercy } 

Vict How can I injure what lies defenceless in my 
power ? 

George. Heaven bless you, dearest. Henceforth my whole 
life shall prove to you that you have not pardoned an un- 
worthy man. 

E7iter Anna. 

Anna. Oh, my head is all on fire! Nobody can find the 
slightest trace of my husband. Oh, what misery is in store 
for me ! 

Vict. Compose yourself, dear sister. 

Anna. I cannot stay here a minute longer. Oh, my dar- 
ling husband, where are 5'^ou } {Exit.) 
Vict. Come, let us follow. {Exeunt.) 

Enter HAi:iS and Hilda. 

Hilda. And you could not find Mr. Herbert either } 

Hans. No, I searched everyvhere, but couldsnot find him. 
Vhat reason dat old man had to run avay I'd like ter know ? 

Hilda. There are a great many among which one may 
choose. The old man had a little tiff with his wife and — 

Hans. Veil, dat's de ding! Vomens are alvays a driving 
us poor fellows vid der tiffs and fights to our doom. {Hans 
sneezes^ 



29 

Hilda. I hope you haven't caught cold ? 

Hans. Why ? 

Hilda. Sneezing, they say, is always a sigii of having 
caught cold, 

Ha?is. No vonder ven I catched cold. You has tumbled 
me out of hot vater into cold vater, and out of cold vater 
into hot vater at a pretty shmart rate to-day, to make a poor 
chap catch cold. 

Hilda. Were not the gentlemen delighted to see their 
ladies so unexpectedly.^ 

Ha7is. I don't know vh\^ for. Dey shpoil all der fun and 
dey have now to do noding but to dance attendance on dem 
like poodles. 

Hilda. If Mr. Herbert knew that his wife were here he 
would be very much pleased and — 

Hans. I'm not so sure of dat. After dinner I seed him 
leave de room vid his face red like an lobster, and den seed 
him pull out an handkerchief vid vich he firsht viped his 
face and den tied it round his head, and den he begins to 
groan and moan like an pitiable creature. 

Hilda. Hans, you frighten me ! I'll go instantly to 
Mrs. Herbert and tell her all about it. The poor woman, the 
poor woman ! {Exit.) 

Hans. Dat serves dat poor voman right ! Vhy did she 
fight vit dat poor old man. He has for sure drowned him- 
self. I'll go to de pond and try to fish out his poor corpse. 
XExif.) 

Enter George and Violet. 

George. My darling, what causes you to shed tears? 

Violet. Oh, dear guardian. I am very unhapp)-. 

George. Will you not confide the cause of your grief to 
me. your truest friend ? 

Violet. The young man who escorted your lady friends to 
this place is the same who contrived lo win my love when I 
met him two months ago in Canada, and now he has cruelly 
deceived me. 

George. Do you mean Harry Clifton } 

Violet. Yes, I overheard a conversation between him and 
Mrs. Peabody in the conservatory. He kissed her hands and 
swore eternal love and devotion to her. What is the matter, 
dear guardian } What ails you } 



30 

George. Nothing ails me. I feel nothing but compassion 
for you and a desire to help you. So 3^our faithless lover 
pledged his love to Mrs. Peabody and she accepted it.? 

Violet Most rapturously; she kissed him and called him 
by the most endearing names. Oh, there she comes ! I hate 
that woman and cannot endure her presence. {Exit.) 

Enter Victoria. 

Vict. Dear George, did you get any news concerning my 
brother-in-law ? 

George. Madam, you said this morning that events, cir- 
cumstances, may possibly effect a change in the lover's minds, 
and that 5^ou would consider it against your conscience lo 
keep yourself bound to a promise you knew you could not 
faithfully fulfill ; and now I'll take you at your word — 

Vict. As a rule people detest to be taken at their word. 

George. Madam, though it will make m)^ life miserable and 
valueless, I'll release you from your promise to become my 
wife. 

Vict. This sounds as if you were speaking in earnest. 

George. 1 am bitterly in earnest. 

Vict. Explain 5^ourself more clearly. 

George. Discretion and delicacy do not permit me to 
speak frankly with you. What I suspected, feared — 

Vict. What you suspected, feared ! I can absolutely make 
nothing of your extraordinarx^ remarks — 

George. Your conscience can tell you all that you pretend 
not to know. 

Vict. As you really appear to be in earnest, your sus- 
picion rather saddens than surprises me. 

George. Who was ever more trusting than I ? Let a man 
be as faithful as he will, and devoted even to madness, he 
shall be deceived for another, who is the veriest rake of 
the world. 

Vict. So you doubt my love and faith for you ? 

George. Love! Faith! That is endlessly to crave what 
you cannot give. Like other women you see in men only 
your prey. 

Vict. George, listen to me — 

George. Madam, let me pass. 

Vict. Pass, sir, I will not hold you. {George exit.) 

Enter Anna. 



Anna. Victoria, I am fairly wild with grief. I have given 
up all hope of seeing my poor husband, whom I have wronged 
so cruelly, again in this world. 

Vict. Let us not lose all hope. We'll telegraph to the 
city for a detective and — 

Anna. Come, let us do it instantly. Come I {Exeunt.) 

Ejiter Harry and George. 

George. You do not want tor assurance, young man. 

Harry. 1 love Violet and would cherish her in my heart. 

George. Your hand is not pure enough to touch hers. I'm 
responsible for my ward's h -nor, and — 

Harry. Violet's honor is as dear to me as my own 

George. And what is the honor of Mrs. Peabody to you.'* 

Harry. My love and veneration for her lies too high to be 
gauged by mortal eyes. 

George. Sir, vour infamous duplicity is beyond limit. 
Don't try to blind and hoodwink me with your pretended 
veneration for that treacherous woman, who has so baseh^ 
deceived me. 

Harry. Persist in accusing the noblest and truest of wo- 
men, and you shall answer for it. 

George. Challenge me ! Then I'll seize the opportunity to 
kill you like a venomous reptile. 

Hany. Sir. what do you really repn^ach me for? 

George. Your conscience ought to tell you that you are a 
libertine. Violet overheard your conversation with Mrs. 
Peabody in the conservatory, and informed me that my affi- 
anced wife accepted n^ou as her lover. 

Harry. Do not judge the tie between me and your future 
wife by appearances. I feel nothing but a boundless grati- 
tude for her. 

George. I tnust confess that it begins to pique my curiosity 
to kaow the cause of your boundless gratitude to Mrs. Pea- 
bod)^ 

Harry. Permit me to make you acquainted with that 
cause. As Violet's guardian you have a right to know ni}'- 
sad past. 

George. I am listening, sir. 

Harry. When I was only a seven years' old sickly child I 
had not a soul in the world that cared for me. My parents 
were dead, and I lived with an old blind aunt, whom I used to 



32 

lead around the streets to help her beg for charity. One 
day we had not been able to get a cent or a morsel of food, 
and we had had insufficient for man)'- previous days. When 
we entered our wretched home my aunt fell senseless to the 
floor, I ran for help ; but it could do her no good — she was 
dead, I felt terrified and rushed out of the abode of death 
into the street. The night wore on, and it grew bitter cold 
and the snow flakes fell thick and fast. I was shaking all 
over with cold, and mv misery was great. I had been aim- 
lessly wandering about, and. tired to death, I sat down on the 
stoop of a private house. Bursts of music coming from the 
interior of a neighboring mansion struck like a knife into my 
achi^ig heart. I sobbed as though my heart would break, but 
the passers b^ did not pay any attention to the poor wee child, 
I had thrown myself face downward, on the steps, when of a 
sudden a rough voice spoke to me : " Move on boy, or I'll take 
you to the station house " I was unable to obey this com- 
mand ; though benumbed by cold I was not unconscious. 
Then a door- opened, and I heard a woman's voice say: 
" Policeman, what is the matter with that poor boy?" "I 
can't tell, Ma'm," he answered, " the boy seems to be sick," I 
never well knew how, but I was lifted in a woman's arms and 
carried into a room where I was placed on a lounge. The 
warm atmosphere of the room made my blood circulate with 
renewed vigor. I stared upward, but neither moved nor ut- 
tered a word ; the lights and my benefactress's face blended 
dizzily in my eyes, and I looked on in a sort of wonder. The 
lady watched me pitifully, and, stroking iny matted hair, said : 
" Poor boy, he shivers; he is nearly frozen to death." The 
soft cadence of her words brought to my heart calm and con- 
solation, and hot tears rushed under my swollen lids, which 
she wiped softly away. She told me afterwards that there was 
an unconscious appeal in my eyes, which touched her to the 
heart. She wore a bunch of violets on her breast, and to 
this day the fragrance of these sweet flowers bring to my mem- 
ory that never to be forgotten night and moves mv soul with 
deep emotion. From that night she has taken care of me. 
I would have served her as a slave, but she did not accept 
my service. She reared me as her own child, and has made 
an honest and useful man of the desolate and starving boy. 

George. And the name of this noble woman — 

Harry. Is Victoria Peabody. 



33 

George. Heaven forgive ine,that I ever doubted her purity, 
her innocence ! 

Harry. Her warmth of sympathy, the sweetness of her 
temper, is great. 

George. Sir, I dare not ask your pardon for my vile sus- 
picion. If you care for vengeance, you have your wish, for 
I am wretchedly unhappy ! I have wronged the truest of 
women too basely to hope for forgiveness. 

Enter Hans. 

Hans. Master, dis is awful. I couldn't find de bod)^ in de 
pond, and den 1 goes to de voods and dere I finds an man 
hanging on de tree Oh, Master, I fears it is Mr. Herbert, 
and I runs straightvay home to tell you. 

George. This is dreadful ! Mr. Clifton, let us mount our 
horses and hurry to the place of disaster. Hans, you must 
stay here and take care that Mrs. Herbert does not hear 
about this fatal news. Come, sir, {George and Harry exeunt ) 

Hans. 1 knows dat poor old man vas going ter hang him- 
self; but it's awful, awful ! 

Enter Anna. 

Anna. Hilda informed me, a few minutes ago, that you 
saw my husband tie a handkerchief round his head and then 
heard him sigh. 

Hans. Sigh ! Veil, Mam, he didn't only sigh, but I hears 
iiim grtjaning and moaning like a man in an awful bad fix. 

Anna. Oh, heaven, have merc\'' on me! And where did 
you see him last 7 

Hans {sJiuddering). Oh, Mam, shpare me dat ! I begs of 
you I couldn't tell you dat awful sight 1 seed him in ; not 
to save mine life ! 

Anna. Man, don't torture me — speak, or I'll go mad ! 

Hans. {As/de.) Veil. I better tells her: she must know it 
anyhow. (A/oud ) Veil, don't get vorked up too much 
about vhat I have to tell you. Mam. 

A?tna. Speak, speak ! 

Hans. Veil, your husband has— no I can't tell you, Mam, 
it's too awful I 

Anna. Oh, that man will drive me mad ! Speak ! 

Hans. (As/de.) Perhaps she go and kill herself like de 
old man, and so I better tells her. (A/oud.) Veil, your 



34 

poor husband— on a tree in de voods— he has hanged him- 
self. 

Ajina [titters piercing shrieks and rushes off?) 

Hans. I must go and vach dat poor voman, or she'll kill 
herself too. {Exit.) 

Enter Daniel [with a handkerchief tied round his head.) 

Dan. The dinner of m}'- friend Western was excellent, 
and to my misfortune his champagne was more so. 1 in- 
dulged against my usual habit, too freely in it. When I left 
the table I felt a sudden and queer sensation of a rolling in 
my head, and these ominous symptoms began to scare me. 
1 tied this handkerchief round'my aching head and rushed 
off to the stable, and theiein ascended to the hay-loft to 
sleep off undisturbed that queer dizziness of my head. I feel 
better now ; though my head is not yet quite the thing. I'll 
try to keep aloof from my pleasant companions, and before 
all, from old Miss Weaver. 'Cjad, when the champagne went 
to my head 1 began to blabb out all my recent little domestic 
troubles, and made a regular fool of myself This appears 
to be a quiet place, and I'll try a cigar; it may improve my 
head. (Lrgh/s a cigar.) Ah, there is nothing like a good 
cigar and a quiet home ! 

Enter Hans. 

Hans. Dat poor voman takes on awful. Veil, de womens 
has taken a hold of her, and I'll rest mineself now a little 
from dat hunting after dat old man. {Pull out a pipe and 
lights it.) Veil, he is dead and gone and I hopes in heaven, 
vhere no womens can boder him no more. ( Wants to seat 
himself and then sees Daniel.) Ah ! 

Dan. Why do you stare at me like a fool } 

Hans. Are you an ghost or an living man } 

Dan And are you crazy or drunk ? 

Hans. Drunk ! Not much ! Vhat an ungrateful man 3rou 
are, Mr, Herbert. Firsht, I fished for 3^ou all over de pond, 
vherby I vorked mineself all in a shveat, and den 1 runs lo 
de voods and finds you hanging on a tiee, and now you calls 
me drunk. 

Da?i. Stop your nonsense. I suspect that you bolted 
with a bottle of champagne to the woods and got beastly 
drunk. Now leave me alone and don't disturb me any 
longer. 



35 

Ihins. {Aside.) Dat ungrateful wretch treats me after all 
de trouble I had vid him too mean. I'll have mine revenge ! 
I'll go and set his vife at him ; she'll vash his muddled head 
clear for him {Exit.) 

Enter Adelina. 

Add. I wonder where my truant lover may be. He 
promised to meet me in the woods ; but disappointed me 
after all. When 1 got tired of waiting I went to my room 
and drew up a deed of separation between Herbert and wile. 
This will give me a glorious opportunity to begin my career 
as a lawyer. I'll plead this case in court myself, and at its 
happy issue triumphantly call out : '' Veni, vidi, vici ! " 

Dan. Oh, my poor head, my poor head ! 

Add. At last I have found my truant. {Seats herself near 
Daniel.) 

Dan {Aside.) My goodness ! What a new and terrible 
affliction ! 

Adtl. Dear Mr Herbert, I have been occupying myself 
with your affairs. I have drawn up that deed of separation 
between you and your suspicious, troublesome wife. 

Dan. A deed of separation ! Ma'm, what do you mean ? 

Adel. After you had unbosomed yourself of your domestic 
troubles you begged of me to draw up a deed of separation 
between you and your wife, and act as your counsellor and 
defender. 

Dafi. I was a little excited at the dinner table, and — 
{Aside.) Oh dear, oh dear ! What misery that champagne 
has already inflicted on me ! Oh, my head, my head ! 

Adel. In the dignity of a free born American lawyer, I'll 
defend your cause. Cases of this character suit me particu- 
larly, and I'll soon rid you of a woman who is not worthy of 
you 

Enter Anna (but remains in the backi^^roiind). 

Dan. Oh, my head, my head ! 

Adel. Tell me once more all the particulars concerning — 
Dan Well, now, as I begin to view this little altercation 
between me and my wife more coolly, I am coming to the 
conclusion tliat I am not altogether blameless in my conduct 
towards her. 



36 

' iAdel. You excuse her unjust behavior? Oh, frailty, 
frailty, thy name is man ! 

Dan. If I be not mistaken, Shakespeare puis it the other 
way. 

Adel. Shakespeare! Shakespeare I I'll soon become 
another Shakespeare and put him all at naught. 

Dan. Are you married, Ma'm ? 

AdeL Twice before I have informed you that I am still en- 
joying my liberty — a possession which is most essential in a 
woman. I am for free love. 

Dan. Free love ! Ha, ha, ha! Yes, it must be nice to be 
a Mormon. 

Adel. Stop ! I did not speak of Mormons They are the 
worst oppressors of my sex and the greatest humbug of this 
part of the globe. 

Dan. Free love ! But don't you think that for the wel- 
fare of mankind the famil5' ties ought to be held sacred } 

Adel. Among civilized and enlightened creatures these 
old fashioned ideas go for naught. Family ties, indeed ! The 
husband betrays the wife, and vice versa. The mothers self 
their daughters in the matrimonial market like human mer- 
chandise to the highest bidder. Any means are good enough 
to avenge our sex of this outrage Wait till a man conde- 
scends to notice us.? Pshaw! Future generations will smile 
at such a preposterous prejudice ! 

Dan. You are such a clever girl. Miss Weaver, I think the 
best you can do is to marry and — {Aside.) Oh, 1 wish I 
were home ! 

Adel. Have you any children, Mr. Herbert } 

Dan. No, Ma'm ; they did not come to bless me. 

Adel. No children ! And you still hesitate to divorce 
yourself from your wife } And does she really expect you 
to keep scrupulously your marriage-vows, when she herself 
does not even think it becoming in a wife to fulfill the high 
functions of maternity 7 

Dan. Well, it was surely not her fault. She dotes on 
children. 

Adel. Don't believe it ! Her actions are only guided by 
selfishness and the desire for pleasure. You surely don't 
like to die childless. 

Dan. Well, I don't know ; I imagine myself pretty well 
off without them ; and as I can't get them I'll try to make 
the best of it. 



37 

Adel. Shelter yourself behind a heart that harbors no 
suspicion, and will keep you from the sad fate to ^o childless 
to your grav^e. 

Dan. I'm no longer young, you know, and I may become 
soon wearisome. All that I stand in need of is a quiet life. 

Adel. So you refuse to sign this paper? 

Dan. I'll do anything to oblige you, save give up my good 
wife. 

Adel. Then j^ou missed the most excellent opportunit}^ to 
oblige me. 

Dan. That my dear wife is one of the most virtuous and 
best of her sex, she has proved for twenty years beyond a 
shadow of doubt. 

Adel. Your faith in her ma}' be delusive after all. 

Anna. {Coming forwa7-d.) How dare 5'ou urge my husband 
to a separation from me } 

Adel. Madam, I did nothing of the kind. 

Anna. Do not aggravate 5'our behavior by adding lies to 
it. The motive of your baseness is transparent enougli. 
Women of your stamp ought to be arrested, tried, and 
hanged. 

Adel. Madam, a weak-minded man like your husband has 
no interest for a superior woman 

Anna. My dear husband, can you forgive me ? 

Adel. How weak and foolish to ask a man's pardon. I 
blush for these unprincipled w^omen. {Exit.) 

Dan. Dear wife, there is nothing to forgive. We are all 
weak and apt to err ; but therefore we are not obliged to 
give up at one throw all our happiness. 

Anna. Dearest, I am very much ashamed of my foolish- 
ness. 

Dan. My darling, there is no cause for shame. I approve 
of your sister Victoria's saying that we ought to make a 
liberal allowance for jealousy, but always guard it as a domes- 
tic secret. In failing to perform that last wise decree, I be- 
came guilty, too. But it was all the fault of Mr. Western's 
excellent champagne. {Exeunt) 

Enter HanS {%uith a bottle of c/ta}npagne and a glass.) 

Dat old chap Herbert vas a saying to me, vid de most 
insulting manner, dat I bolted vid an bottle of champagne, 
and den got drunk. Now dat vas an lie. But I got an bottle 



38 

of champagne now ; dough I stealed it not. Our fat cook 
gaves it me. Dat cook is uncommon spooney on me, but she 
has too much veight to move me. She veighs at de lowest two 
hundred and fifty pounds, and dat is too much for me. But I'm 
sick of de women folks anyhow, and I'm going now for dis 
beauty. {Points at the bottle.) I'll have an jolly good time 
and drinks here mine champagne in peace. {Ope?is the bottle 
and then pours out a glassful and ejnpt/es it at one draught i) 

Enter HILDA. 

Hans. Ah, dat is an bully champagne. {Potirs out another 
glass, and %vhen he leads it to his mouth Hilda puts her hand 
over the glass .) Takes your hand off, girl ! Can't I get no 
minute of peace in dis place } 

Hilda. In half an hour you 11 have all the peace you want. 
We are all going home. Every one seems to be in a hurry to 
leave this place. 

Hans. I'm glad for dat. Veil, Hilda, here goes. [Drinks.) 

Hilda. Well, good-bye, I'm off. 

Hans. Don't you vant an glass, Hilda.? 

Hilda. To please you, Fll accept your offer. Your health ! 
[Empties the glass at one draught.) I thank you. But I have 
not a minute to lose. Good-bye, Hans. {Exit.) 

Hans. Hilda, come here one minute, I vants ter ask you 
someding. 

Hilda. Well, be quick, I haven't much time to lose. 

Hans. You are such an shraart girl, tell me, Hilda, vh}^ 
can't de devil skate.? 

Hilda. What nonsense ! How should I know.? 

Hans. Veil, can't 5^e guess ? 

Hilda. No, I can't ! 

Hans. Veil, how in hell could he } 

Hilda. Hans, I pity you, if you can't make better jokes. 
Good-bye. {Exit.) 

Hans. Good-bye, good-bye ! [Looks at the glass arid shakes 
his head.) Veil, dat girl has an good drain ! To please me, 
she say, vhen she dranks de champagne T offered her, but it 
seemed to be novays unpleasant to her ; gulped it all down 
like vater. ( Tttrjis the glass over.) Not a drop she left at the 
bottom of de glass. {Pours out aglassfull.) Veil, here goes ! 
{Pours out another diiring the fall of the curtain.) 

^-- J End of Act H. 



39 



ACT 111. 

Parlor and conservatory at Mr. David Jones residence. 
Scene /. Victoria and William Jones. 

X'ict. If an education, such as your son's, had proved a 
successful one it would have been a miracle. Uncle William. 
1 never approved of your indulgence, nor ever shall. 

Will. And you never forego an opportunity of expressing 
your disapproval. I think my David is a capital fellow 

\^ict. Yes, his boon companions swear by him, and all the 
frivolous women are in love with him. 

IVill. What do you know so much against my son } 

Vict. Sufficiently about him to advise you, if you will save 
him from a public scandal, to assist his wife in trying to 
guide him to a worthier life. He is still young, and his 
frivolous habits are not yet ingrained in his nature. Repulse 
his frivolity and idleness. His mode of living requires an 
immense amount of money ; deny him the means for his ex- 
travagances and make him a partner in your business. 

]Vill. Oh, his is a peculiar temperament, and he is very 
obstinate. He would not like it. 

Vict. Uncle, your pliant temper will be the ruin of your 
son. 

Will. Unfortunately I never could be firm ; 1 could never 
induce him to obey me. 

]"ict. Uncle, have you no conscience.'' 

Will. I hope 1 have 

Vict. But, surely, a very weak one. Your son's seif-willed 
character was developed by your want of judgment in edu- 
cating an American boy 

Will. Please let us Hot resume the old argument Vic- 
toria, why don't you take my sons part and try to reason 
Bella out of her foolish whims? I really can t see what she 
has to complain of. 

Vict. In a worldly sense she has to all appearances made a 
fine marriage To secure the son of a wealthy man is a great 
thins: in the world's eve, and it seems everv one must envy 
her. 



40 

Will. And in any other sense ? 

Vict. End in a whole hfe's shipwreck. 

Will. The coldness between my son and his wife has been 
growing with alarming rapidity during the past few days. 

Vict. If you don't keep him in check, they will become 
more and more indifferent to each other ; then pass into that 
stage of married life, common enough in our days, when they 
will only Hve together and meet in society for appearances 
sake, keep up a mock-happiness till death will made an end 
of the farce. 

Will. Well let me hope, dear niece, their matrimonial sky 
will soon be cloudless again with the help of your superior 
wisdom. 

Vict. Rather a dangerous position you place me in. Bella 
confided to me that she intends to study for the stage. 

Will. What confounded nonsense ! If she were to go on 
the stage I'll advnse my son to bring an action against her. 

Vict. An action ! 

Will. However, I should prefer to see this matter settled 
out of court. Why cannot Bella be like an}'^ other .^ 

Vict. She said, as your son studies no one's wishes but 
his own, and never missed a point in the game of dear self, 
she will try to cons )]e herself by following the urging of her 
talent. 

Will. A pretty notion ! Never heard such nonsense in 
all my life. 

Vici. She feels a consolation in the conviction that her 
genius Avill offer solace and pleasure to thousands. 

Will. Bother her genius ! Go to the stage ! What a 
dangerous atmosphere for a woman to move in. 

Vict. Uncle, I don't like that contemptuous ring in your 
voice. Wherever a true woman is placed, nothing can tar- 
nish her virtue or lower her dignity. We can never tell 
whether a woman be true till she is tempted. 

Will. 'Gad, this is the most annoying thing 1 have yet 
experienced This scandal will be the death of me. 

Vict. In the enthusiasm of my 3^outh I would have given 
all my wealth to reach the sovereignty and celebrity of a 
great actress. But I had no talent. 

Will. {Testily?) I doubt that ; I have thought you always 
a perfect actress 

Vict. Uncle, do not try to fight me with the cheap weapon 
of sarcasm, or I shall declare war on you. 



41 

Will. That would be too formidable a declaration ! I'll 
throw up my weapon at once, and cry for mercy ; for no one 
could stand the fire of your sarcasm. But. in spite of your 
enthusiasm for the stage you can't deny that at the present 
it does not cater for a cultured and high-minded audience. 
There is a general crying out at the decay of the drama. 

\^ict. You could not speak a sadder truth ; but the stage 
is to a certain extent still in its infancy, which leaves its 
future a blank that can be filled out by imagination. 

Will. You arouse my curiosity. Pray, what might its 
future be ? 

I'^ict. At present, sensational writers cater only for the 
speculations of greedy managers and stars, and to the jaded 
palate of the populace, which they make shriek with laughter 
by their perpetual strain after farcical eftects ; but their ever- 
lasting imitations and trite commonplaces fill the cultured 
part of the audience with disgust. These writers have ruined 
the legitimate drama, and their prime defect is their exist- 
ence. 

Will. That is unfortunately but too true. 

/ Vc/. But I see looming in the distance a new era, wherein 
high-minded American citizens, whose families vvould like to 
make the theatre their favorite resort, will take the interest 
of the stage to heart, and help to purify its atmosphere ; for 
we can only look to the cultured classes for true sympathy 
of art. These worthy men will unite and form a society to 
encourage American dramatic writers by submitting their 
literary productions to the crucial test of experts ; they will 
offer prizes for the meritorious ones, and encourage the 
young author's first efforts which, though not perfect, may 
show some talent or touch of genius. 

Will. That would be an excellent plan. 

Vict. Under the watchful care of these noble men the 
dr.ima, suppressed so long, shall rise transformed like the 
butterfly out of its dingv chrysalis, glorious and triumphant ! 
And outraged Thalia will pro'udly raise her head and applaud 
these high-minded American citizens who have helped to 
purify the temple of art, and so deepened the stage into the 
grandeur of an institution of education for the children of a 
larger growth. Then even the men of the church will abate 
their enmity, and make peace with the actor, w^ho now is 
wondering why his toilsome days and honest efforts are 



frowned down by them, and whose injustice makes his laurel- 
wreath press heavily on his brows. Prejudices will melt like 
snow before this sunshine of true art. 

Wz7l. Quite sublime ! But it is of no use to bring those 
true and high ideas into common life : they are a little too 
exalted. You may think me very commonplace, but let 
me advise you to "take life as it is. not as it ought to be. 
Reformers rarely contrive to be happy and successlul. To be 
pleasant is the thing, and after all it costs nothing. 

Vz'ct. By selfish people this may be accounted the perfec- 
tion of wisdom ; but do not wrong yourself, dear uncle. 
Those who know you well like you for your generous heart 
and noble actions, and Im convinced that you will be one of 
the foremost of these noble men. 

Will. Victoria, 1 think you are a genius. You are so 
verv clear-eyed, and look right into people's hearts and at 
the bottom of things. 

Vict. Uncle, you do me too much honor. But, true to my 
sex, I have grown too discursive. I promised my sister to 
accompany her to make some purchases, and — 

Will. Will you allow me to escort you ? I too have some 
purchases to make, and then 1 have a meeting to attend to 
in behalf of those confounded stocks, 

Vict. Uncle, a few moments ago, you made the flattering 
remark that 1 am possessed of a genius which looks right at 
the bottom of things. Shall I put my genius to the test and 
look into the future and tell you the fate of these annoying 
but already too much premiumed stocks.^ 

Wilt. Pray, oblige me. 

Vict. The issue of the meeting will be clever, but evil. 
Let me whisper my oracle in your ear: The stocks will get 
watered ! {She laughs, and exit, William, also laughijig, exit.) 

Enter Bella and David. 

David. Are you going to pout with me Irom morning till 
evening ? 

Bella. Pout? I don't poul. I wouldn't think of such a 
childish thing. 

David. Come, it annoys me to see my pretty wife with a 
frown on her brows. You seemed to admire that bracelet with 
the sapphires so much, I'll buy it for you with pleasure if you 
will accept it. 



43 

Bella. You'll do better to send it to your " loving little 
white mouse," dear Deechy Datchy. 

David. [Aside.) Confound it I [Aloud.) The whole story 
about that white mouse is all made up by those gossiping, 
tattling women. 

Bella. When Mrs Herbert imagined her husband dead, 
her grief overmastered her to such a degree that she accused 
you as the cause of her misery, and so told me everything. 

Divid In this world no one seems to be sincere ! Be- 
lieve me. there is no truth in it. The story is conjured up by 
my cousins, and is nothing but a diabolical plot to disturb 
my domestic peace. I'll not allow myself to get angry, and 
you see me now at my best, but — 

Bella. Then I should not desire to see you at your worst. 
But I fear no one ; and you least of all. 

David {Aside.) I can only look at her wonderingly, and 
can't help admiring her. {Aloud.) When I talk to you it is 
certainly in your own interest only. Don't throw your hap- 
piness away through mere want of reflection. 

Bella. Happiness ! Indeed, sir, I have reflected. 

David. If there seemed to be some singularity in my 
behavior — 

Bella. Evil tongues have given this singularity of yours 
a different name ; but of course they deserve no credence. 
I can only forgive you under certain conditions. 

David. Madam, i don't stand in need of forgiveness. 1 
think I rendered you no slight favor in marrying you. 

{Bella looks steadfastly in David' s face, thcfi takes a 7iase a fid 
rearranges the flowers in it ) 

David. {Aside.) She met my gaze unmoved ! Does not 
even deign to answer me ! Incredible ! {Aloud.) Do not 
listen to my gossiping cousins any more ; they are a bad lot, 
and will corrupt and ruin you. 

Bella. Is it so easy to be corrupted or ruined } 

David. Of course, it's the easiest thing in the world. 

Bella. You quite perplex me. 

David, I think my cousin Victoria a frivolous and mis- 
chievous woman. 

Bella. You are such an expert in regard to women. You 
ought to know that — 

David. I am too good for 5^ou. 

Bella. Extremes meet ; and in joining contrasts lies love's 



44 

delight. The satisfaction you derive from the idea that you 
are too good for me will indemnif}'^ you for all you have suf- 
fered during our marriage. 

David. {Aside?) By Jove! She is actually fooling me. 
{Ahmd.) What confounded h5^pocrites all you women are I 
Madam, you are not a dutiful wife ! 

Bella. Tell me, my severe mentor, and are you a dutiful 
husband ? 

David. Of course I am. Your behavior is unendurable 
and must not be submitted to. If you were really in earnest 
to carry out your foolish whim about the stage, it would be 
equivalent to a separation between us. A woman must obey, 
as the marriage service commands. 

Bella. But I'll not obey ; and if you regret your marriage, 
I'm willing to dissolve it. 

David. On what grounds ? 

Bella. Well, let's put it mildly and say incompatibility of 
temper. 

David. Bella, you are playing a dangerous game. Then 
you imply that you would be glad to get rid of me ? 

Bella. I desire nothing of the kind. I simply intend to 
carry out my purpose, because I want a career of my own. 
and not idle my time away like you. To be a commonplace 
housewife don't satisf)^ me any longer, and I am craving for 
the glorious and intoxicating triumphs of an actress. Does 
it not inspire you with enthusiasm, too } 

David. It inspires me with very moderate enthusiasm 

Bella. Home fills me with ennui and satiety ! I accept 
this chance as providential, and I know that my lot is sealed ! 
Oh, what a brilliant whirlpool opens before my eyes ! 

David. {Aside.) Why, the woman is mad ! {Aloud.) You 
are devoid of conscience to conceive such a preposterous 
idea for a moment ! 

Bella. I have no sentimentality. 

David. Indeed, so it seems. But I may be pardoned for 
not yielding so easily to your delusions. Don't carry out 
your whim, if you be wise Women who get out of the 
ordinary groove are not always the happiest of their sex. 
You are a wife and a mother, but still very inexperienced. 
Without your husband you are no one ; society will look 
down upon you. Opposition on your side is foolishness, 
obstinapy, and blindness. 



45 

Bella. M}^ dear, what exaggerated language ! Pra3% do not 
exaggerate ; it has gone out of fashion. 

David. And how dare you attempt such nonsense without 
knowing if it suits me? If I didn't love you I wouldn't 
trouble myself to reason with you, but let you ruin yourself. 
Come now, little pussy, is it serious ? 

Bella. So it really does not suit you ? 

David. No, indeed, it does not suit me at all (Aside.) 
Aha, she is sliding round. 

Bella. Then I'm sorr)^ for your sake ; but, I told you, my 
lot is sealed irrevocably I 

David. If you persist in your foolishness, the time will, in 
every likelihood, come when you'll condemn and reproach 
yourself at having made yourself the laughing stock of your 
friends. 

Bella. Perhaps it might gratify my vanity to be the object 
of so much attention. 

David. Poor, vain woman ! {Aside.) I must confess that 
this atfair begins to look very serious at last ! Her crisp, 
unswerving tone seems to indicate more than a freak. 

Bella. [Aside.] I have promised my dear Victoria not to 
yield to him, till he confesses his guilt and asks my pardon. 
But it is a harder task than I imagined. 

Dai'id. Oh, by Jove, every woman is an enigma ! The 
future I had depicted by your side had been all serene and 
fair. 

Bella. Don't you feel some scruples as to the cause of 
your disappointment ? 

David. {Speaks very slow atid hesitating.) Suppose, I offer 
by way of extenuation the fact— that I have been — led astray 
by bad example, and — 

Bella. ( Walks to his side and puts her hand on his shoulder.) 
And ? Go on, dear. 

Da7'id. (Aside.) No, I must not ask forgiveness like a 
hen-pecked fool I It would be the ruin of me ! 

Bella. (Speaking softly, without removing her hand from 
David's shoulder.) You did not finish your last sentence. 
Dear David, what is it you have to offer by way of extenua- 
tion ? 

David. Oh, never mind. {Aside.) T must take up another 
and safer line of argument ; and if it must be, even shed a 
few tears. (Aloud.) Bella, undutiful mother, have you never 



46 

bestowed a thought on your poor child ? It is heartrending ! 
It brings tears to my eyes. 

Bella. {Looks at him coldly, then walks away froin his side 
and busies herself with the /lowers again.) Our child is all 
right. Don't let anxiety for his welfare be an impediment to 
your peace of mind ; but, pray, shed your tears as freely as 
you can. 

David. (Aside.) She is actuall}^ quizzing me. 

Bella. But don't take this matter so seriously to heart 
I may grant you the privilege to protect and watch over me 
and my child ; but that would be all. 

David. You don't appear to be very timid and in need of 
a protector. 

Bella. You are right 1 only assigned you this post of 
honor for your ovvn satisfaction 

David. Well, I may surprise you one day, when — 

Bella. You are not ver)^ likely to surprise me who knows 
you so well. 

David. Madam, do not forget yourself. 

Bella. Sir. you have constantly forgotten yourself. 
'^ David. (Aside.) She is pretty sharp! I'm getting the 
worst of it. (Aloud.) You'll not avert my suspicion. Madam, 
and secure my confidence. I'll not make a fool of myself in 
serving you in 'your future vagaries, as a screen. When I 
married 5^0 u — 

Bella. I imagined that I had a good chance of happiness 
in becoming your wife. But now I know my mistake, and 
my chosen profession shall console me for — 

David. And what shall console me } 

Bella. [Stands face to face with David.) Your modesty and 
the noble consciousness of your innocence. 

Enter Mary {with a baby iii her arms). 

Mary. Mam, Miss Weaver would like to see you on very 
important business. Shall I show her in.^ 

Bella. No, I'll go and take her to my sitting-room. (Exit.) 

Alary. (Seats herself, with the baby covered up ivith a veil, 
on a chair near the windozv.) 

David. She really defies me and tries to make a fool of 
me. She is frightfully impudent ; but it is a very piquant 
impudence ! Though her audacity irritates me to unceasing 
pain and anger, I must not submit to her frohcs. What a 



47 



soft maiden and wife she has hitherto been, and now liow her 
proud hps smiled with contempt. It is a pity I didn't take 
more pains to study her character. Really. I don't know 
what to do! No, really, I don't I Oh, this whole busines 
will drive me wild ! It would be too dreadfully foolish to ask 
her pardon and promise meekly to be a good b(;y in future, 
and all that sort of bosh ! It would be too degrading and 
silly ! My dignity as a husband would be gone forever ! 
Well, I'll pull myself together and try to act wiser in the fXiture, 
and give up my little follies; but I'll never forget myself so 
much as to ask her forgiveness. {Goes and kisses the baby.) 
She didn't even notice her child. Oh. what an enigma is a 
woman ! (E.v/t.) 

Mary Well, I declare, he is getting elegant. I've never 
seen him as yet kiss his baby as tenderly b-fore. And it's 
quite a new thing for him not to chuck me under the chin 
and pinch my cheeks I was just making up my mind to 
give my madam warning on account of her husband's free and 
easy manners, to which I could never take. When I rebuked 
his impudence he always called me a peevish and jiettish lit- 
tle goose. But I'm always remembering my mother's sajnng: 
Mary, she used to say. when a gentleman begins to pinch 
your cheeks iind otfers you presents, don't be a fool and think 
yourself flattered by his condescension ; but look out sharp 
and snub him as hard as you can ; otherwise yuull fall in a 
trap full of pitch that'll stick to you all your born days. 

Enter Hans. 

Hans. Marv, is your master at home ? 

Mary. No he went out a few minutes ago. 

Hans. Dat is too bad. Veil, oblige me and give him dis 
letter from mine master. 

Mary. All right. Mr. Erning. 

Hans. Don't call me dat vay ; call me Hans, I likes dat 
best Veil, Mary, have you dought it over vhat 1 said to you 
last night ? 

Mary. 1 have thought over it, but I don't know how to 
answer vou. Perhaps y^ u are still in lo\'e with Hilda. I'm 
but an ignorant girl and she is so clever. Indeed, I'm but a 
greenhorn. 

Hans. De greenhorns jist suit me, and you'll do for mine 
vife. 1 hates de clev^er girls. Vhenever I try an little joke 
dat clever Hilda always murders mine vit right out. 



48 

Mary . Hilda has saved lots of money and I'm but a poor 
girl. 

Hans. Never you mind, mine little girl ! I've saved 
enough dat I can open an grocery store, and mine fader has 
plenty of silver to back us. You are an honest girl, but dat 
Hilda is an lump of deceit and humbug. Mary, don't you 
like me an little Int ? Tell me now, for I goes to-night vid 
mine master to de vest, and so I'd like ter know. 

Mary. Oh. Hans. I'm so sorry that you have to go away ! 

H ins. Veil, don t fret, mine girl, we'll soon be back again. 
Mine master is all mixed up in de mind and vill not stay away 
long from dat clever woman he vas so sweet on ; so it seems 
to be now all ovc;r vid deir courting. Every morning I'd to 
bring her lots of flowers, but for five days mine master didn't 
send her as much as an leaf. Veil, veil, she is too clever an 
woman, too, for mine master, and he ought to be glad dat he 
got safe out of her traps. 'Mar)^ vhen I comes back, I vants 
to marry right avay. Don't you vant me for your old man ? 

Mary. Hans, I think I really do like you. 

Hans. My dear girl, you make me very happy ! Let me 
kiss you for dat kind — 

Mary. Hans, take care, and don't wake up the baby ! 

Hans. Veil, I'll restrain mineself. Vat is de name of dat 
little girl } 

Mary. It is no girl; it is a boy. His name is Alfonso 
Adolphus ; but we call him by the pet name Nony. 

Hans. Mary vhat vould you say vhen ve'll have such an 
little popsy-vopsy } 

Mary. Oh, Hans, don't, don't ! 

Hans. Vhen we are married and ve close up de store on 
Sundays, vill it not be fine vhen ve takes our babies to de 
country for an airing, one little fellow holding tight your 
skirt in his little fist and de oder on mine arm and de young- 
est in an little carriage I push before me } Mary, wouldn t 
you like dat ? 

Mary. Oh, dear Hans, that would indeed be elegant. I 
hear my madam's voice, and you better go now. 

Hafts. Veil, I'll not say good-bye, now ; I'll see you again 
before I leave vid mine master. 

Mary. Hans, be sure not to go off without bidding me 
farewell. 

Hans. Don't you be alarmed about dat, mine girl. Vhen 
Hans say a ding he means it. {Exit:) 



49 

J/(iry.^ How dearly I love that g^ood Hans. I thank you, 
Father in Heaven, that you have given to me, poor girl, such 
an honest, kind friend. 

En^er Bella and Adelina. 

Ade/. My dear Madam, you must be firm. Do not allow 
your husband to trample on you. Let me plead your case and 
I'll settle this affair to your satisfaction. 

Bella. (Has been looking fondly at her child?) 1 dare not 
kiss my darling for fear of waking him up. Put him in his 
crib, Mary. Be careful that you don't expose him to the 
draught, and you had better close the window in the bed- 
room. 

(^Mary goes off, but is met at the door by Victoria, who just enters 
the room. Victoria looks fondly at the baby and pats its dress. 
Bella and Adelina have beeti whispering during this time. Mary 
exit. Victoria comes forward^ 

Vict. Good morning, Miss Weaver. Bella, your darling 
bov is growing lovelier every dav. Don't you think him a 
charming baby, Miss Weaver? 

Adel. I didn't look at him. I don't like babies. 
Vict. Ladies, I am heading this subscription in behalf of 
the poor destitute Jews who have been driven away so cruelly 
from their homes in Russia. Will you be so kind as to assist 
me in my efforts bv adding your names to mine.-* 

Bella.' Most willingly. 
Vict. And you. Miss Weaver .^ 

Adel, I'll riot give anything to those Jews. Why, Mrs. 
Peabody, I thought you were a Christian ! 

Vict. So I humbly dare to call myself. But, neglecting 
the opportunity to relieve my fellow-creatures, how should I 
venture to lay claim any longer to the sacred name of a 
Christian? My carriage is at the door. Will you oblige me, 
ladies, with your company for a ride ? 

Adel. We have important matters to discuss, and so you 
must excuse us, Madam. 

Vict. What were you c<jnspiring when I entered the room ? 

Bella. Come and join the conspirators. Miss Weaver is 
trying to persuade me to bring an action against my husband. 
Vict. 1 hope Miss Weaver is not in earnest. A separa- 
tion between husband and wife should not be thought of till 
all other means of rec(jnciliation have failed. Miss Weaver, 



50 

have you really the heartlessness to suggest such a thing to 
a loving wife and mother? 

Adel. Not heartlessness, but courage. The latter remains 
an instinct in me. 

Vict. It is a pity that it did not find a nobler cause to 
defend. 

Adel. To defend the rights of oppressed women is the 
noblest of causes. But if Mrs. Jones does not desire a 
divorce from her husband, I could procure a separation for 
her. 

Vict. Heaven has intended women to be kind and con- 
ciliating. 

Adel. Bosh! Heaven did nothing of the kind. To be like 
men and share their rights in everything is a woman's privi- 
lege. 

Vict. That would place her in a wrong position, and divest 
her of her greatest charm — her womanhood and grace. 

Adel. The emancipation of woman, so long enslaved, shall 
soon come, and the slaves shall make their masters cling to 
them with fear and trembling. Mine is a fearless life ! I look 
upward to the sun of a new era ! I am the living symbol of 
unchained womanhood ! Listen to me ! listen to me ! listen to 
me ! The balance holding the destiny of woman, upon whose 
issue all her future hangs, will sway the scale to her side, will 
free her of her bondage, and allow her to claim the liberty to 
which she is entitled. There are still bold strokes to be dealt 
by our sex. They fear us already, though they still persist in 
oppressing us like purblind idiots ; but we shall turn and 
conquer them. What we only saw in the mist of dreams 
we shall at last behold in reality. The conflicts shall be 
ended between men and women, and rejoicing in our triumphs 
the vanquished men must acknowledge us as their equals. 

Vict. And you are a defender of free love, too, Miss 
Weaver? 

Adel. Lam, as it is becoming in the woman of a new era. 

Vict. If women were all like you the world would go to 
perdition. You are not the woman who will create- a new 
era, but the woman of evil who would ruin the civilized 
world's foundation, religion, and family-ties. 

AdeL Religion! Family-ties! What ancient rubbish ! 

Vict. Your motive is immoderate ambition, self-glorifica- 
tion, guided by egotism, but surely not to effect the weltare 
(jf mankind. A woman must not covet the duties of men. 



51 

Adel. Well, tell me, Madam, have we not business capaci- 
ties, talent for science and genius for art as well as men ? 
Woman must be a man's partner; but not his slave. 

l^i'ct. Since Sappho's time women have distinguished 
themselves, and have been duly acknowledged and admired 
by the world. Your constant harping on women being men's 
slaves is utterly devoid of sense, and I can only laugh it 
down as a ridiculous delusion. Out of a hundred households 
there are ninety-nine where the man is the ruled one. though 
he may be happily unconscious of it. A true girl can influ- 
ence her brothers and friends, and once married she will rear 
her sons into a noble manhood. Without such mothers do 
you think the world would have such great men ? The house- 
hold is the kingdom of woman, where she must reign 
supreme by law divine. 

End of Act III. 



52 



ACT IV. 

Garden of William Jones' country seat. A7i ilhnnination with 

Chinese lanterns. 

Scene I. Harry and Violet. 

Violet. Dear Harry, so we are happy at last ; though not 
exactly as we have hoped for. My guardian and benefactor 
has lost all his happiness by my foolish suspicion. 

Harry. According to Mrs Peabody's tacit agreement to 
our proceedings, we have done everything to encourage your 
guardian to hope for forgiveness from my benefactress, who 
is always generous to a fault. He promised Mr. Jones to 
come to his garden party to-night. 

Violet. Dear Harry. I feel so guilty that I have wronged 
you by my jealousy ! But I promise never to give you 
offence again. 

Harry. Even if we should, occasionall}', have some little 
spasms of jealousy, love shall plead our case against suspi- 
cion, and if jealousy shows for a little while contempt of 
court, love shall soon win our case, and restore trust and 
peace to our hearts. These little lovers' skirmishes shall 
only serve to make us dearer to each other. 

Violet. Dearest, thanks for your kindness to your foolish 
Violet. 

Harry. The day we first met I felt magnetically drawn to 
you ; and when I asked you your name and you softly lisped, 
Violet ! then I felt that Heaven had thrown you in my path 
to become the bright sunshine of my life. The fragrance of 
the flower, from which you have derived your name, has 
always moved the poor boy's heart with soft emotion, but now 
it has gained a still deeper meaning in the heart of the man. 

Violet. Your Violet shall try to make herself worthy of 
your love, and that of your noble benefactress. {Exeunt^ 

Enter Hans. 

Ha7is. I vonder vere my little Mary is ! She promised to 
meet me here in dis place. Aha, dere she comes ! No, it's 
dat foolish Miss Adelina and Mr. Jones. {Hides himself.) 



53 
£';//'<?r William and Adelina. 

IV/ll. You put it very cleverl)^ ; but suppose men would 
continue the battle, and were not to surrender? 

Ade/. Then the alternative is simple. Let Ihem listen to 
reason, and make a compromise, or we shall make them 
slaves upon whom woman shall put her foot as a conqueror. 
I'll hurl my wisdom in fiery words like rocks upon them ! 
And when under the influence of my teachings their minds 
have broadened and deepened, my merits shall ultimately 
win their recognition. But it shall come like the flash of 
lightnirgand the crash of thunder ; and ihen they shall kneel 
before me and behold me in my glory and my power, 
and there shall be no one on earth stronger than myself. 
For all the generations to come immortal life shall be my 
fate. They shall embalm me in their hearts and I shall never 
grow old ! 

Hans. {Aside.) Old ! Vhy, she is already as old as 
Meshusalem ! 

IV//L The universe holds no cleverer woman than you, 
Miss Weaver. I shouldn't be at all surprised if you were 
even a wonder of perfection in culinary art. 

Adel. I thought that occupation always beneath me ; 
but to please you, dear Mr. Jones, I should even make an 
effort to perfect myself in that branch too. What a pity you 
are a widower I How dreary and hollow your life must be. 

JViH. What a pity you are for free-love, dear Miss 
Weaver. 

Ade/. W^ho told you that story ? 

JVi'll. Mr. Herbert informed me of it. 

AdeL That gentleman has evidentl}^ a very slanderous 
tongue. I had to rebuke his advances, and he ought to be 
careful not to say anything to my disadvantage. 

Hans. (Aside.) Vhat an dreadful liar dat old girl is ! 

IV/l/. Pray, calm yourself! Miss Weaver, I should like 
to know in what position you stand to Mr. Western, as you 
have taken up quarters at his residence } 

Hans. [Aside.) Yes, to my plague and all de oder ser- 
vants. 

Ade/. Mr. Western is my cousin. A month ago he wrote 
to me very kindly to honor him with a prolonged visit in 
order to chaperon his ward Violet in society. However sus- 
picious matters may look, you need fear nothing. If my 



54 

cousin were to die with love for me I shall never encourage 
him. 

Hans. (Aside.) Mine master vill not murder liisself for 
dat cranky girl. 

Adel. But I must give this matter more serious reflection. 
People might talk, they are so exceedingly vicious. 

Hans. {Aside.) Never seed any more vicious dan dat girl. 

Adel. I'll gather up my dignity and self-esteem, and shall 
trust from this moment only in you, dear Mr. Jones. 

JVill. Oh ! (Aside ) 'Gad, perhaps she is going to pro- 
pose to me. 

Adel. What ails you, dear Mr. Jones 7 

Will. For a couple of days I have had a little neuralgia 
in my arm, and just now there is a stinging pain that — 

Adel. Did you use an3'^thing for \t} 

Will. I have taken cold water baths, and — 

Adel. My dear Mr. Jones, you couldn't have made a 
greater mistake. Water-cures will be the ruin of men. I 
am an expert in the science of medicine, and I maintain that 
water should not be used for the human body at all. 

Hans. Dat's jist like de old dirty girl she is. 

Will. Though I am a great admirer of your superior wis- 
dom, I may, nevertheless, venture to suggest that cleanli- 
ness — 

Adel. Listen to me attentively^ and all your scruples shall 
vanish before the soundness of my theory. Warmth and a 
vigorous circulation of the blood are the greatest promoters 
to health. The simplest method to produce such a desirable 
condition of the body is friction. Dear Mr. Jones, take a 
brush, and every morning and evening rub it moderately 
over your skin. This simple proceeding will keep the latter 
soft and clean, and create a powerful circulation of the blood. 
Bath-tubs are infernal machines, and water-cures ought to 
be forbidden by law, and in case of transgression, punished 
as murder in the first degree. 

Hans. (Aside.) Dat is an bully old girl, dat Adelina. 
Will. It can not be denied that there is some force in 
your new theory, Miss Weaver. 

Adel. You ought to communicate it to all your friends. 
Will. You are the most superior woman I ever met. I 
shouldn't wonder if yoi^ were even bent on the discovery 
of the philosopher's stone. 

Adel. I don't bother my head with rubbish ; but I have 



55 

given my thought ver\^ much to the transmutation of souls. 
I am a fanatic on that subject. 

Hans. {Aside.) She is an crazy girl in everyding. 

Adel. Permit me to explain its principles, and — 
Will. Spare me, Miss Weaver. An explanation of the 
principles of transmutation of souls would be too great an 
ordeal for a commonplace man. 

Adel. Will yon not interest yourself in this matter for 
your Adelina's sake, dearest William? 

Hans. [Aside.) Now she calls him already dearest 
William. Wicked old girl ! 

Will. Whatever topic you may choose I shall meekly 
submit ; but I can"t stand that transmutation of soul business. 
It's nonsense ! 

Adel. It is of an enormous interest to me, who has read 
all the Greek, Latin, and Buddhist classics in the original. 

Hans.^ {Aside.) Dat's sure an big lie. 

Will. That kind of reading would be too dry for me ; I'm 
not a bookish man. The \^xy bindings and letterings of 
th>se books frighten me. 

Adel. Will 3'ou promise me to call on me to-morrow, 
dearest William ? 

Will. I may call around some day next week. Important 
business — 

Adel. I shall wait for you, and think of you when I 
have high feast of science and art in my lonely chamber, 
and anticipate the hourly sweetness that is in store for me. 
But don't forget about the friction of the skin ; for your 
health is as dear to me as my own. I shall be in future your 
teacher, your defender, and protector 

Will. Don't vou think that would invert our relations 
as — 

Adel. If 1 have once become love's bondswoman you 
need not fear that your dignity will lose by our marriage. 

Will {\side.) 'Gad, this begins to look dangerous ; she 
may bring an action for breach against me if — 

Adel. This is the lirst time in my life that I realize, with 
blushing cheeks, the power of love. {Takes Will's arm.) 
Will. (Aside.) My goodness I Now I'm in for it ! {Exeunt.) 

Hans. Vhy, dat old girl is an regl ar man-trap. If she 
ever catches dat poor old chap, he'll not vant mucii friction ; 
she'll make it hot enough for him. But vhat's true dat's 



56 

true. Vater is no good, and as for drinking it, brrrr! it 
make mine stomach sick only to dink of it. But I must go 
and try to find mine Mary. {Exit.) 

^;^/^r Victoria, and Bella. ^' 

Bella. Dear Victoria, you must release me from my 
promise My poor David appears to be really unhappy, and 
I fear that I might lose his love if — 

Vict. For both your sakes, I implore you, to be firm and 
hold out to the end. Be kind to him, but not aftectionate 
till he confesses his guilt and asks your forgiveness. 

Bella. I have received many congratulations on my birth- 
day this morning, but none that touched my heart more than 
those of my dear husband. I had great difficulty to contain 
myself, not — 

Vict. So you have made a little fool of yourself. Qon't be 
afraid to lose your husband's love ; you never possessed it 
more than now. He shall soon share the fate of my little 
parroquet Lixj^ which I brought from Mexico. First he 
beat his wings against the bars Hke an)^ fresh-caged bird. 
But under judicious treatment and tender care he became 
soon used to his captivit3^ and understands me now like a 
human being, and loves me with all his soul. 

Bella. Soul ! Victoria, you are joking. A bird has no 
soul. 

Vict. How can my birdie love me, if his creator has not 
endowed him with a soul? Love, this most precious gift on 
earth, for which we may pay what we choose but cannot get, 
is in my judgment the greatest proof of the existence of a 
soul in all of God's creatures. 

Bella. Your birdie's demonstrations of love for you ought 
to make one a convert to your belief in his soul. Hush ! I 
hear my husband's steps. Let us withdraw. {Exeunt.) 

Enter David.) 

{Seats himself on a bejich and then flings aivay his cigar?) I 
can't even enjoy a good cigar any more ! Ah, I feel wretched 
and sick of life ! {Buries his face i?t his hands.) 

Enter Hilda. 



57 

Hilda. (Aside.) Ah, there is Mr. David ! My madam lias 
given me warning and my Frenchman has bolted. The best 
thing I can do, under the present circumstances, would be to 
accept Mr. David's offer to provide for me in the future. 
[Ahud.) Mr. David, you don't look very spry this evening. 

David. I shall deem it very spry in you. if you were to 
mind your own business. Don't bother me with your impu-. 
dence and leave me alone. You ought to be ashamed of 
yourself. 

Hilda. [Aside.) My gracious ! if he turns preacher I 
wonder what shall become of us poor girls. There comes his 
wife. I'd better give her a wide berth, for she never seemed 
to take to me. {Exit.) 

Enter Bella. 

David. ( yumps up and goes to meet her.) 

Bella. Pardon me, I was not aware of your presence here, 
otherwise I shouldn't have disturbed you. 

David. You can never disturb me ; only make me happy 
by letting me enjoy your company. Dearest wife, you look 
lovely this evening. 

Bella. There are lovelier women in this world than I am. 

David, There does not exist one in it whose loveliness 
could charm me more than yours. Bella, I feel very un- 
happy } 

Bella. What frets you? Is there anything I can do for 
you — tell me 

David. In all my life I have never been at a loss how to 
express my feelings, but now — 

Bella. Go on, David. 

David. Bella, this moment shall decide both our lives. I 
have been the spoiled child of a doting father and the pet of 
his numerous friends. Life brought me no anxiety, no regret. 
Self-indulgence and hunting after pleasure were the only 
objects of my existence. 1 had never known before what 
unhappiness meant. All at once my past life seems to me 
base and frivolous ; all that is nobler and better in my nature 
answers to your appeal to my love and honor. Be my good 
angel — not my judge. Though your protest and indignation 
are but justified, cannot you excuse your culpable and foolish 
husband } 



Bella. {As/de.) There is something in his eye that goes 
straight to my heart. 

David. ( T/i7'0WS himself on Ike bench and hides his face heJiind 
his hands.) Ah, I wish I were dead and at peace forever ! 
(Rises .and then falls on his knees before Bella.) Bella, I feel 
shame and remorse, and T ask your pardon for all the wrong 
I have done to you ! Follow the dictates of your own 
heart — let it be your guide ; if you cannot love me— do you 
not pity me at least ? 

Bella. 1 do not pity you. 

David. Ah, what cruel punishment you inflict on me ! 

Bella. Pity I must refuse you ; but I can offer you that 
which has never wavered in my heart for my dear husband : 
my fond love ! 

David. And so you forgive me ? 

Bella. Forgive ! What is left to forgive since you love 
me } 

David. And you long no more for the triumphs of an 
actress } 

Bella I only long to be sheltered by a husband I love and 
honor. 

David. Dearest wife, henceforth I shall honestly strive to 
merit your esteem and love. Ah, it makes my head giddy, 
this release of pain. 

Bella. Dearest our friends will miss us, let us go and join 
them. This birthday has brought me the greatest gift on 
earth : love and happiness. And are you really happy, too, 
dearest Davy } 

David. (Drawing Bella to his heart.) The fast loud throbs 
of my heart can tell you that there is not a man alive who is 
happier than your devoted husband ! [Extunt ) 

Enter Hans and Mary. 

Mary. Dear Hans, I'm so glad to see you back so soon 
again. Did you enjoy your trip ? 

Hans. Veil, no, it was an queer traveling. One da}^ dis 
vay, de oder day dat va5^ and so on. But vhen mine master 
received an letter from Miss Violet be acted like an crazy 
man vhen he had read it. He ordered me to pack up again, 
and back ve goes home again and here we are. 

Mary. You have just come in time to my madam'sgarden 
party. 



59 

Hans. Dat's jist vhat mine master come for in such an 
hurry. 

Mary. Didn't you hear of poor Hilda's misfortunes ? 

Hafts. Not an vord. 

Mary. Her Frenchman has bolted ; he has gone to Paris 
without her. 

Hans. Serves dat bad girl right. 

Mary. He hadn't paid his landlady a cent of board for 
three months. When she asked him for her money he always 
gave as an excuse that accounts could not be squared with 
his fashionable customers. When she decided to oust him, 
he had already bolted and so cheated her out of all her money. 
And the diamond ring he gave to Hilda is not worth any- 
thing 

Hans. I never trusted dat sly monkey. Once I met him 
in an oyster saloon and dere he invite me to eat and drink 
vid him. He stuffed and drinks like an hog, but never 
showed cash vhen de bill vas to be settled. He behaved like 
an regl ar deadhead. 1 had ter pay de whole bill out of mine 
pocket. 

Enter Hilda. 

Hilda. Dear Hans, what a happy surprise to see you here. 

Hans. Veil, 1 cant say dat much for mineself. {Takes a 
bouquet out of its paper 7vrap.) Mary, I forgots to give you 
someding. Here, mine darling. 

Mary. Oh, Hans ! I thank you a thousand times ! No- 
body ever has given me a bouquet in all my born life before. 

Hans. Mine girl, dat's jist vhat suits me. 

Hilda. {Aside ) Why, he is getting quite a swell ! But he 
does that only to spite me ; he don't care .a whit for that 
stupid girl. {Aloud.) Dear Hans, I don't care for that foolish 
Frenchman, any more ; because I have found out that my 
heart loves no one but you, 

Hans. You can't bamboozle me any more ! Go to your 
Frenchman, who vants to introduce you in Paris to his sisters 
and his cousins and his aunts. 

Hilda. Desert me, if you will, but I'll take revenge and 
sue you for breach. 

Ha7is Veil, dat's de coolest ding I ever hears. She jilts 
me firsht for dat gouty Frenchman, and den she vants to shue 
me for breach. Dat girl has de satan in her body. 



6o 

Hilda (to iMary). In my opinion, its shocking behavior in 
you, brazen-faced giri, to flirt with my intended husband. 

Hans. Now, you sly-boots, don't talk to mine innocent 
Mary like dat, or you'll rouse de lion in mine breast. Mine 
Mary is — 

Hilda. An artful spider ! Do I deserve such treatment, 
Hans? 

Hans. Of course you do, you coiling snake. 

Hilda. Have you no pity for your Hilda ? 

Hans. Not a bit! Do you dink I'm an idiot, an ass.f* 
You are an smuggler of contraband goods — would smuggle 
too many friends in your husband's home. Oh, I'd like to 
smash an looking glass you is so foud of, over your foolish 
head. 

Hilda. {Laughs mockingly^ Would you, indeed ? 

Maiy. Hans, don't mind her laughing at you. 

Hans. Veil, if she laughs, I'll outroar her. {Roars out with 
laughter and thejt places himself face to face with Hilda, and 
sticks his tongue in his cheek a7id nods his head.) 

Hilda. You vulgar fellow ! Don't stick your tongue in 
your cheek. 

Hans. I sticks mine tongue vhere I likes to. I told mine 
Mary dat I'd prefer to eat an piece of mouldy bread and 
drink water vid her dan to — 

Hilda. Soda water you mean, to recover from your beer 
swigging. You would sooner murder your wife than give 
up gulping down barrels of beer. 

Hans. Vhat a dare-devil shmood tongue dat girl has hang- 
ing in her moud. Now, you prickly crocus, shove off ! Pack 
yourself out of mine sight ! 

Hilda. Your street slang is only fit for a yellow nigger. 

Hans. Yellow nigger ! Ha, ha, ha ! Dat's enough to 
to tickle anybody. Come, mine Mary, dis is no company for 
you. De music vill soon strike up, and we'll have the first 
dance together. 

Hilda. You can't dance ! You don't even know how to 
keep step to the music. 

Hans. Veil, I knows enough to keep step vid mine Mary. 
Come, mine darling. 

Hilda. [Calls mockingly laughing after them.) When you 
are married, you splendid couple, I'll come and see you. some- 
times. 



6i 

Hans. Save us de boder ! I'll not put mine little birdie 
togeder vid an vicious cat. {Mary atu/ Na?is exeunt.) 

Hilda. Well, 1 don't care that 1 have lost my fellows. 
There are plenty of fools in this world, and for a superior 
girl like me it will not take much to catch them. {Exit.) 

Enter Victoria and George. 

George. I am afraid that my communications shall be of 
but little interest to you. 

Vict. I take interest in all my fellow-creatures' troubles, 
and as soon as I am able to relieve them, T try my best. Vou 
told me that you had something to tell — 

George. I have nmch to tell ; but before all let me inform 
you of the origin of my ward s birth. You, as well as Harry 
Clifton, whom you so generously saved from misery and 
desolation, have now a right to become acquainted with 
Violet's early life. 

Vict. Please sit down. 

George. Pardon me, I cannot sit down. When I begin to 
review my past my brain becomes on fire, and — 

Vict. Pray, compose yourself. Let us delay this review 
of a life which is so painful to you. 

George. Permit me to speak to you now. 

Vict. Pray, go on, I am listening. 

George. After I had been married two years, my late wife's 
selfish extravagance became unendurable. Her life was 
nothing but one string of pleasure. She invented excuses 
for her frequent absence ; but one day her non-arrival at 
home aroused my anxiety, as I could not explain her absence. 
The next day I received a letter from her. What my eyes 
read I did not know ; but I knew that she had deserted me — 
for whom I could not guess. Three years elapsed without 
finding a trace of her. One day I rf ceived a letter from my 
brother, wherein he besought me to come to him before he 
parted from this world. I hurried to his bedside, and there, 
when his sight began to fail him, he told me the deadly 
wrongs done to me. Well, a deathbed repentance ! Then 
and there I learned that my wife had deserted me for his 
sake. First they had aimlessly moved on together, and when 
his creditors bad laid claim to the last of his property, and 
he was a ruined man, the woman, who had betrayed me, told 
him that she did not think it pleasant to live with a man who 



62 

did not know where to turn for a dollar, and left him too. 
Though he used no daggers, his confession stabbed me to 
the heart! But I did not wish to turn the steel against a 
dying man and a brother His entreaties even prevailed on 
me to yield to his desire to take care of his child, which he 
had contrived to hide away from its faithless mother. He 
derived great consolation from the thought of having his 
infant daughter thus pi iced beyond tiie pernicious influence 
of the woman whose love for her offspring proved to be in 
the end the single thread of gold unraveled from the treach- 
erous net of a hfetime of sin. Twelve years after my brother's 
death she discovered that her daughter Violet had been 
entrusted to my care. One bitter wintry Christmas night 
the door of my library opened, and at the threshold I saw a 
woman very poorly and thinly clad. She stood motionless 
and gazed at me beseechingly. When I fastened my eyes on 
her flushed and haggard face she fell on her knees and im- 
plored of me with tears of prayer to let her see her child. 
Thus at last I met my faithless wife. She uttered, in broken 
whispers, some excuses for the wrongs done to me, and 
.crouching with fear and despair in her eyes, her head sank 
lower beneath the gaze of the man she had wronged. The 
solemn pealing of the Christmas-bells, which announced 
peace and joy to men, pleaded powerfully in her behalf, and 
I could not find it in my heart to driv^e her a stranger from' 
her child. As it happened, Violet, who was spending her 
vacation with me, was entering the room at the moment, and 
seeing her child, her mother, frantic with grief and joy, threw 
herself on her knees before her daughter, and then lost con- 
sciousness. It was a painful but touching situation. For a 
couple of months the wretched woman lingered at death's 
door, and then died repentant beneath the roof of her for- 
giving husband in the arms of her devoted and loving child. 
You weep ! Does my shame so move you ? 

Vict. Not yours ; you have no share in it. The wisdom 
of the poet's words : 

"There is a soul of goodness in things ill, 
Would men observingly distill it out," 

you have verified by your noble conduct. 

George. Violet's birth is very discreditable to her, and I 
fear — 



63 

Vict. Tt is not the least discreditable to her ; the discredit 
rests with her parents. It would be cruel to let such an 
innocent and pure girl suffer for their sin. 

George. Noblest of women ! In your exquisite womanly 
grace and generosity of heart you appear to me the incarna- 
tion of my golden dreams of youth ! Let me bend my knee 
and thus ask, with the agony of remorse, your forgiveness ! 
Like sunshine your love had fallen in my dreary life, and 
when I wronged you I hardly knew what feeling I ex- 
perienced. 

Vict. May 1 suggest jealousy .-^ 

George. I now agree with you that sincere love brings to us 
a natural jealousy, of which we have no cause to be ashamed. 
However, I have wronged you so deeply that I fear — 

Vict. What ! 

George. You shall never be able to forgive. 

Vict. Words of forgiveness coming from lips so proud 
plead to my heart, and — 

George, Dare I hope for the priceless gift of your love ? 
In spite of my doubt and suspicion? 

Vict. My heart is yours beyond doubt, beyond suspicion. 

( The orchestra begins to play a waltz?) 

{Hans and Mary enter the stage dancing?) 

Hans. Don't dat shving fine, mine Mary? 

Mary. Oh, Hans, it's elegant! [Dancing, exeunt?) 

Enter dancing, Daniel and Anna, David and Bella, Violet and 
Harry. Victoria and George join in the dance. Adelina {juho 
etitered the stage after Victoria' s last words, has l/een looking dis- 
dainfully at the dancers, then says aside :) Foolish people ! To 
rejoice in dancing I consider only a species of lunacy. 

William Jones {luho entered with the dancers makes now a 
deep bozu before Adelina, and says) : Miss Adelina, will you be 
so kind as to favor me with a dance ? 

Adel. My dearest William, with all my heart! {William 
and Adelina join the dancers, but try in vain to keep stDp to the 
music.) 

End of Act IV. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL , ^, 

017 373 257 * 



